The Worth of Ash
by TheDoctor36
Summary: Orphaned by a wildling attack, Kyren was taken in as a ward to Ned Stark and allowed to train as a warrior. Now she joins the Starks on their journey to King's Landing with the intention of following her own path afterward, but it seems everyone has their own plan for Kyren. EXTREMELY slow-burn Jaime/OC, follows events of the show, rated M for language and realistic fight scenes.
1. Prologue

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own any rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. Such elements belong to George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their assorted publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which make me no money.

* * *

Prologue

 _Six years previous..._

"I will send two bushels of firewood and two squares of peat with you," Ned Stark told the last man he was set to hear that day. There had been more supplicants than was common for Winterfell - especially when it was so bitingly cold in the forests - and he was weary. Catelyn was nearing her birthing time for their fifth child and he despised being far from her. The man's lack of response was grating on his nerves, and Ned's voice was rather sharp as he prompted, "I assume that will suffice until you can gather wood for your family."

"Yes, Lord Stark," the man mumbled, bowing shakily. "Very good of you, my lord. Most kind…"

Ned accepted the man's thanks with a stilted nod and gestured for one of the guards to come forward, trusting that the guard would give the man what had been allotted before sending him on his way. When the two had left Winterfell's courtyard, Ned stood and stretched the stiffness from his spine. He had been seated on the hard wooden chair for far too long, but he would endure worse if it meant his people were properly cared for.

"M'lord?" a hesitant voice asked.

Caught mid-twist, Ned glanced toward the open expanse of the snow-crusted courtyard and found an unassuming man standing there. His clothes were well-worn and threadbare, but obviously painstakingly clean. His rough-spun hat was held crushed in his fist as he stood waiting for Ned to acknowledge him.

"Supplications have concluded for the day," Ned said slowly, testing this new arrival.

"Beggin' your pardon, Lord Stark, but I fear this cannot wait."

The man's gaze had yet to lift toward Ned's own, but the Lord of Winterfell admired the quiet firmness in his voice. Partially cursing his own softness for his people, Ned Stark sat back down on the wooden chair. "Come closer, man," he invited. "Tell me your troubles and I will help if I am able."

The man gave a deep bow before edging closer to the stone ledge from which Ned's chair overlooked the courtyard. Finally, he lifted his eyes. "M'lord, I come to you full of fear. I live outside of Winterfell, north a fair distance. It is just me, my wife, and our daughter. I have no sons, no brother I can turn to."

The words rushed from his lips as quickly and violently as if they were carried on the steam of his breath. Ned held up a hand to silence the rush. "What is your name?"

"Desmor Asheworth, m'lord."

"Asheworth… Hailing from Ashford, perhaps?"

Desmor flushed darkly. "I am not sure, m'lord. We've lived here for longer'n most can remember. Just me and my family now."

"And what are the names of your wife and daughter?" Ned asked, seeing that the man was still tense and frantic. It seemed to do the trick, as Desmor's deep brown eyes warmed at the mention of his family.

"My wife's name is Milah and my daughter's Kyren," he answered. "Please, Lord Stark, I beg you-"

Ned gestured sharply and Desmor fell silent. "You need not beg, my good man. Tell me where the trouble lies. Why have you need of my assistance?"

"Wildlings," he whispered, then straightened noticeably. With shoulders pulled back and chin held firmly upward, Desmor explained, "I fear a group of wildlings has found their way into the forest near my house. I hear them at night."

Sitting forward slightly, Ned frowned. "You have seen their fires burning in the darkness? Found tracks?"

"No, m'lord, but I hear them."

"There are many strange and threatening sounds that fill the forests at night," Ned said carefully. His last desire was to insult Desmor Asheworth, but Winterfell was short of men at the moment. He could not spare men to chase down a herd of deer that a scared farmer and his wife thought sounded like wildlings.

"Please, Lord Stark," Desmor pleaded. "I need only a few men to aid me in searching the forests. Several of my sheep went missing yesterday. If they have already come so close to my house, I fear for the safety of my family, but I am unable to protect them myself."

Ned sighed. "I have few men to spare this day, but a hunting party is due to return at dawn. Tell me the location of your home and I will send them to you straightaway."

"'Tis very generous of you, m'lord, but it will not be soon enough. They could attack today, this very night…"

Ned stood and Desmor dropped to one knee. It made Ned's stomach twist like a dying snake. "Rise." The man stood slowly, meeting Ned's eyes with desperation in his own. "Desmor Asheworth, I, Lord Eddard Stark, give you my word that my men will ride to you ere noon tomorrow. Should they be late, I will gather my best men and personally ride to your aid. Before darkness falls tomorrow evening, any wildlings will be gone from the forests surrounding your home. I give you my word."

He offered a hand to Desmor and the two men clasped forearms in a show of solidarity. Desmor bowed his head over the gesture and said softly, fervently, "Thank you, Lord Stark. You truly are the protector of Winterfell and its surroundings."

"Ride well, Desmor Asheworth, and take heart. You and your family will be safe."

With a pleased smile, Desmor departed from the courtyard and Ned moved into the halls of Winterfell. Though his focus was soon claimed by the crackling fire, the warm stone walls, and the attentions of his extremely with-child wife and their young children, a part of Ned's mind remained with Desmor and the particulars of his problem. In all likelihood, the men would search the next day and find nothing more than the tracks of a wild animal, but there was always the chance of a wildling group. If that were the case, he should very much wish to go along. Robb and Jon were nearing the age to take part in such a mission, and they should both learn first-hand how to care for their people.

 _Late that night, some distance north of Winterfell…_

Milah rolled closer in her sleep, twining an arm around Desmor so that her cool hand rested directly against the spot above his heart. Desmor pulled it by the wrist up to his mouth, pressing a kiss into her palm before returning her hand to his chest.

She inhaled softly, shifting so that she was sitting up in bed. Her light hair fanned around narrow shoulders as she frowned down at him. "Desmor, my love, why are you not asleep? 'Tis late."

He smiled at her. "I am sorry for waking you, wife. I worry for our safety. I confess, I've not slept a wink all evening."

"Ned Stark has already spoken for our safety," Milah reminded him. "His men will arrive tomorrow and I am certain you are determined to accompany them into the forest. You must rest."

"How did I ever deserve such an intelligent woman for my bride?" Desmor asked, laying a smacking kiss on his wife's upturned lips.

She laughed, but chided, "Hush, Desmor! You'll wake Kyren."

Desmor glanced across the small room at the shapeless huddle of their sleeping daughter. "She has lived ten years, my love. I am certain that she has learned to wake and fall asleep again at some time during all those years."

A sharp _snap!_ rang through the room in the laughing silence of the pair. In a moment, Desmor had leapt from the bed and was fumbling for his battered sword in the dim light of the dying fire. The door burst open, allowing chilled fingers of winter air to comb through the dwelling as a number of fur-clad figures scurried inside.

Desmor leapt at the wildlings, shouting all the while. They fought with crude weapons: mostly clubs and rough-hewn axes, but there was one among them wielding a shortbow. It was that man Desmor attacked first, chopping and slashing at the wildling until he lay twitching on the floor. One other male, he kicked into the embers of the fire before slicing his throat. The smoke from his clothing and the scent of charring blood filled the home, and it became more difficult to battle the wildlings.

Just as he thought the attack might turn in his favor, Desmor turned toward a fear-filled shout from Milah and was treated to a view of her throat opening like a second mouth beneath her chin. He screamed, rage and pain filling the noise as he launched himself at the wildling in question. It was a dark-haired woman he killed with ease, but Demor never saw the four additional figures filing into the room.

As Desmor lay on the floor, blows falling from every direction, his eyes fell upon his daughter's bedroll. It was empty. His brown gaze flicked around the room between the feet and fists of the wildlings. Finally, he saw Kyren's eyes shining back at him from the smoke-filled rafters and relief filled him. His daughter was alive. She could very well survive this attack. With that welcome thought, Desmor's mind slipped to a more pleasant place, one filled with quiet and the joy of Milah's peaceful smile.

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Author's Note \- I apologize for the shortness of this particular chapter, but I will be publishing a couple more before the updates slow down. Thank you for giving this story a shot! If you happened to form an opinion already, I would love to hear it. Otherwise, I'll see you all tomorrow!


	2. Chapter One

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I own no rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights belong exclusively to George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which make me no money.

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Chapter One

Kyren blinked rapidly in a rather futile attempt to keep her attention from wandering. Septa Mordane was speaking quickly, her voice nearing panic, yet Kyren continued to struggle to remain awake. It was so _dull._

"Whenever a person of higher rank rises from his seat for any reason, you must remember to rise as well," the older woman was currently lecturing. "You may only use your fingers for choosing fruit or tarts; otherwise, it is utensils at all times. And do not allow your elbows to even brush the tablecloths!"

The last reminder had been mildly insulting the first time it was offered. Now that it had been repeated thrice more, Kyren was beginning to wonder if the Septa believed her utterly inept in a social situation. Even Sansa was listening with an air of slight impatience and Arya had long since given in to sleep.

Finally, Sansa interrupted Septa Mordane. "We have already learned about dining at a formal feast," she reminded. "Why are we being made to relearn everything?"

The Septa glanced at Kyren, and the younger woman was fascinated to note an air of apology in her eyes. "Kyren does not take part in our lessons, Sansa. Lady Stark has asked me to ensure she knows the necessary graces and we believe the reminder would benefit you girls as well."

"Kyren chooses not to take part in our lessons," Sansa replied harshly. "Why should she reap the benefits when she elected to spend time with the boys instead?"

Kyren wouldn't have spoken in her own defense - finding it far easier to avoid all types of confrontation with the fussy daughter of her benefactor - but Septa Mordane spoke in her favor once more. "Sansa, you know that Kyren is an orphan. She has little chance of marriage to a high-born man and is unlikely to need the skills I teach to you girls. Kyren is far better served by attending Maester Luwin and learning from Ser Rodrik."

The explanation was logical enough to sway Sansa's sense of reason and flattering enough about the Stark girl's marriage prospects to soothe her ego, and her feathers visibly smoothed. In contrast, Arya - having now awakened from her sleep - was malcontented. "I wish I could be trained by Ser Rodrik instead of learning how to be a proper lady."

"Arya," Septa Mordane sighed, but she needed say no more and the condensed etiquette lesson continued. "Let us move onto the subject of napkins…"

Several hours later, the lesson had ended and Kyren was being laced into the new dress she had received for King Robert's arrival to Winterfell. It was very pretty: a dark shade of purple trimmed with light brown fur. As the servants leave Kyren to finish readying herself, she reflected that it was a wise choice from all angles and suspected that Lady Catelyn must have decided the details. The dress's rich hue and trim denoted her as a person of importance while not detracting from the attention Sansa would likely receive dressed, as she would be, in pale blue.

On the few occasions Kyren had ventured away from Winterfell - almost exclusively to accompany Maester Luwin on a search for some rare ingredient or another - Kyren had found that she was generally excluded from acceptance. In Winterfell, the kind few who noticed the orphan commented that Kyren was fated to be there, possessing hair of Lady Stark's own shade and 'the eyes of the wolf'. In other places, she was mocked or avoided because of her 'wildling hair and witch's eyes'. Indeed, red hair was more common north of the Wall and Kyren's eyes were a shade of brown so pale that it was almost easier to call them colorless than admit they shared a hue with fine parchment, but Kyren avoided both facts as though they were stinging nettles.

She would tell anyone who asked (and several who had not) that the Asheworths were a proud, long-historied family who had helped construct the Wall so long ago. Her hair was attributed to sheer chance and she stubbornly insisted that her eyes were 'simply brown'. Besides, Kyren knew she had no reason to be proud of her appearance. Her skin was Northern pale and allowed the flush of her cheeks to show when she was angry or embarrassed or had been working hard. Her limbs were far too heavily-muscled to be considered graceful, and the thick muscles of her torso defied all efforts of a corset, giving her an unpleasantly boxy appearance in gowns. Even her face was wide and shallow, and on the few occasions she had glimpsed herself in a mirror, Kyren privately believed her nose to sit slightly askew.

Of course, her appearance did not matter one whit. Kyren could be the most beautiful woman in Westeros and she would still be a spinster. At sixteen namedays, she still had yet to experience her womanly courses and thus was considered ill-suited to marriage. In his lovely, kind-hearted, well-meaning way, Maester Luwin had informed Kyren that she was likely unable to bear children. And, as she understood, even if her courses began the very next day, Kyren would be forced to marry unpleasantly. Either she would have a much older husband - one whose wife had passed away - or one far younger than herself who had not been promised yet. In either case, Kyren was nearly guaranteed to be miserable and so she chose to dedicate her life to something useful: the protection of Westeros.

When Kyren had come to Winterfell, she had a basic understanding of the womanly arts and a lack of understanding toward anything else. Maester Luwin had offered to teach her to read between performing his other duties and had discovered - quite by accident - that Kyren learned quickly, especially in subjects she found interesting. By the time she had learned to read, Kyren had learned so much about medicine and healing from the Maester that he had gone to Lord Stark to request she stay on as a sort of apprentice.

It was a testament to Ned Stark's generosity and caring that he consulted Kyren on what she wanted before he gave a final answer, and thus she now split her days between attending Maester Luwin and being trained by Ser Rodrik Cassel. As expected, this gave her limited contact with the female Starks, but Kyren was familiar enough with Lady Catelyn to call her by her given name and to recognize her subtle and well-meaning machinations.

Lady Catelyn was fiercely defensive of her own family, putting their needs above those of any other person; though, to be fair, Kyren was considered something of a member of the family. She ranked below any blood relative save Jon Snow, but flattered herself that she was better-liked by the Stark matriarch than Theon Greyjoy or any of the servants, though her combat training made Kyren a bit of a mystery to the woman.

Naturally, at this juncture, it was Lady Catelyn's priority to ensure Sansa was on full display and that meant hiding Kyren somewhat. In a twisted sort of irony, Kyren was often mistaken for Sansa at first glance. Though shorter and far less graceful, Kyren shared the exact shade of Lady Catelyn's hair as compared to Sansa's more vibrant color. However, after the true relation had been pointed out to those mistaken individual in the past, parties tended to comment on Sansa's blue Tully eyes - an exact match to Catelyn's own.

Pulled from her own introspection by a frantic female servant, Kyren rushed down to the courtyard of Winterfell for the arrival of King Robert's caravan. His party had been sighted in the distance, but a royal caravan could move quite slowly and the Stark household had abundant time to rehearse how they were to stand. The blood Starks were to stand at the front, with Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy, Kyren, Maester Luwin, Septa Mordane, and Ser Rodrik and his son Jory Cassel just behind.

Lady Catelyn took the time before the king's arrival to pull Kyren, Jon, and Theon aside. "You will all attend tonight's feast, seated at a table with the Septa, Maester, Ser Rodrik, and Jory. Understood?"

All nodded. The steely determination in her blue eyes spoke of immense pressure from the king's visit and none dared speak against her. Lady Catelyn brushed a smudge of dust from Theon's shoulder, tucked a strand of Kyren's hair back into the braided style in which it had been bound, and returned to her place by Lord Stark's side.

Apparently feeling emboldened by the increased distance between Lady Catelyn and himself, Theon turned to Jon and Kyren. "Stuck at a table with the servants?"

Jon studied the Ironborn boy with solemn eyes. " _Beloved_ servants, ones the Starks depend upon highly. There is no dishonor in it."

Theon scoffed. "But servants nonetheless. We are far more important than them. You are a blood relative of Ned Stark and I am his ward, as is Kyren."

Blinking at the sudden attention in her direction, Kyren smiled slightly. "I must admit I am surprised we are allowed at all. I expected to be on guard post. Is that not what Ser Rodrik has been threatening over the past fortnight?"

At last a smile broke across Jon's serious face. "I am surprised as well. I would have wagered on our being told to make ourselves scarce."

"You both expect far too little," Theon grumbled dismissively.

"Or you expect too much," Jon pointed out.

"The king approaches!" a guard shouted from one of Winterfell's towers and everyone scrambled back into place. There was a small gap where Arya was apparently missing, but she showed up just before the king rode through the gates. Ned pulled a helmet from her head as she ran by and passed it smoothly backward to Ser Rodrik.

The royal family began to filter through the gates of Winterfell, filling the expansive courtyard with the clatter of men wearing armor while riding trotting horses. Kyren watched the process with interest, noting that the men halted their horses in specific locations around the grounds before waiting. A young man with golden hair rode toward the front of the party and was at his spot after only a few of the guards. He made use of the additional time by staring at Sansa, noting her pretty face and returned interest with a half smirk. Robb looked disgruntled by the attention his younger sister was attracting and Jon and Theon wore matching expressions behind him.

Kyren was fascinated by the large number of guards the king had designated to accompany the party. There were a handful before the blond boy she could only guess was Prince Joffrey, several more surrounding the caravan that most probably held the queen and the younger two children, and finally, a flood of white-caped Kingsguard before the man who could only be King Robert Baratheon.

As he trotted into the courtyard atop a magnificent black mare, the entire collection of Winterfell's residents dropped to one knee in reverence. Kyren didn't dare lift her eyes to study the king until everyone else stood, and by that point, she was blocked by Robb's broad shoulders. King Robert stood before Ned Stark, looked him up and down, and proclaimed bluntly, "You've got fat."

Kyren bristled, but Jon bumped her gently with his shoulder and shook his head in the slightest of movements. In the exchange, she missed what happened, but the tension had been broken and the people were laughing. The king moved down the line of Starks, greeting each one with a comment or question. He seemed to be quite a likeable man and it was obvious Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark had been friends long before they became King Robert and Lord Stark. The realization calmed Kyren's protective instincts where her adoptive family was concerned.

Her attention was captured by the approach of an icy blonde woman bearing a striking resemblance to the prince. She strode up to Lord Stark and extended a hand with a perfunctory smile. He took it and bowed stiffly to kiss the back of it. "My queen."

Lady Catelyn swept into a deep curtsy as she repeated, "My queen."

Kyren studied the queen. The woman's smile toward Ned Stark could have been misinterpreted by Kyren's still-defensive mind, or the weariness from the queen's long journey could have led to a smile lacking in genuine feeling. There was no real reason for her to doubt the woman's sincerity, but Kyren saw the flash of anger on the queen's face when King Robert insisted on paying his respects in the crypt straightaway and fought back a shiver that had nothing to do with the wind.

In any case, King Robert and Lord Stark - discreetly followed by a member of the Kingsguard - made their way to the crypt while everyone else milled about. The queen made her way back toward the children and yet another member of the Kingsguard while the people of Winterfell dispersed.

"Kyren!"

Kyren turned around and greeted in return, "Arya!"

"Can you believe all the guards? And the armor? Did you see the man with the dog helmet? And how about the-"

Laughing, Kyren interrupted the excited girl. "I saw everything, I promise! I saw your helmet, too." Arya blushed, but Kyren dropped her voice into a conspiratorial tone. "I liked it very much. Quite fetching. Wherever did you find it?"

Arya smiled broadly. "Outside the castle walls! There was a man wearing it, but he was asleep and it fell from his head, so I took it." She frowned slightly. "Ser Rodrik has it now, I suppose."

Kyren sighed. "You know how well Ser Rodrik and I get along…"

"You don't," the younger girl replied with that blunt lack of tact common in children her age.

"-But I may be able to retrieve the helmet for you," she finished.

"Would you?" Arya asked, voice full of hope.

"Of course I would," Kyren told her. "The only question is if I _can_. Give me some time and I will see what I can find."

Arya grinned up at her before dashing off through the courtyard, weaving adeptly through the thickest parts of the crowd without slowing. Kyren shook her head in admiration before Lady Catelyn approached.

"Kyren, you may wish to return to your chambers. I sent a servant to fetch a basin of water for you to freshen yourself and then the feast will be beginning."

"Of course, Lady Catelyn," Kyren replied, inclining her head deeply.

"We must show these Southerners that Northern hospitality is not something to be mocked," she asserted, stepping closer to Kyren so they would not be overheard.

"Yes, my lady," Kyren said obediently, bowing slightly before retreating to her chambers.

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Author's Note \- I know, I know. Lots of exposition in this one. I promise, Jaime will be in the next! Kyren is most definitely the main character of this particular story, and I want you to get the chance to know her before there are any... ahem, distractions. Also, I assume you're reading this story because you're familiar with Game of Thrones. I truly despise fics that simply write out the action that took place in an episode rather than giving original content, so - to the best of my abilities - I will attempt to steer clear of explaining the action that you already know. That being said, I did rather a lot of plotting for this story and I have a chart listing which chapters correspond to which episodes of the show, so shoot me a message if you get curious about what's happening elsewhere in Westeros at any particular time!

Thank you for reading this second installment! I would love to hear what you think. I'll be responding to all reviews by private message, so let me know how it's reading so far (or if you see any mistakes, want to complain, tell me the characterization is off... whatever you need to do!) and I will cherish the feedback. Otherwise, I will see you tomorrow with another chapter!


	3. Chapter Two

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I own no rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related plots, characters, settings, etc. These rights belong solely to George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Two

The feast was loud, dizzying, and nearing the edge of belligerent, as most good feasts tended toward. It had been nearly a full hour since everyone began to dine and for the first time, the king rose from his seat at the head table. The Starks and the royal family started to their feet, but King Robert waved for everyone to be seated once more. While they did as he asked, the king began walking around the perimeter of the room, stopping here and there to speak with someone or laugh with a group.

Eventually, he journeyed to the table filled by the wards, the bastard, and the trusted servants. All stood when he stopped in front of them. He gestured impatiently at them. "Would people stop doing that? Senseless ceremony."

Uncomfortably, the table sat back down. King Robert reached over the table to clasp Jon's arm. "Wonderful to meet you at last, Jon! Ned mentions you often in his reports."

"I- I was unaware of that, your grace," Jon stuttered out, clearly not having expected such a statement from the king.

"Under the personal section," King Robert continued blithely. "Writes about all of his children, Ned does."

A dazed-looking Jon settled back into his chair and stared unreadably at the head table where his father and half-siblings were seated with the royal family. The king didn't notice, already having moved onto Theon. Rather than offering a gesture or comment, King Robert merely directed a shallow nod to the Ironborn.

"Greyjoy. What has your father been doing since this generation's rebellion failed?"

Theon stuck out his chin. "I would not know, your grace. I haven't spoken to the man since Lord Stark took me."

"Ned Stark saved your life when he could easily have demanded it in payment for your father's rebellion," King Robert reminded him harshly. "Not many men would have volunteered to bring a rebel's son into his home, to live with his family. Never forget how badly things could have - _should_ have - gone for you and your family."

"Yes, your grace," Theon agreed stiffly,

King Robert's face lost none of its sternness as his attention moved to Kyren. "And this is the orphan girl Ned took in so many years ago. Tell me, girl, when are you going to stop taking advantage of Ned's hospitality?"

Maester Luwin, Septa Mordane, both boys, and even the golden-haired Kingsguard following the king at a discreet distance looked mildly horrified at the king's question. Judging from the conversations with the boys, however, Kyren felt certain that this was simply the way the king spoke to people and meant nothing personal by his bluntness.

"As it happens, your grace, I hope to leave Winterfell in the near future. I would like the chance to make my own way in the world," Kyren explained.

King Robert stared at her for a moment before throwing his head back in a belly-shaking laugh. "Make your way in the world? Girl, the only 'way' you are going to make is to marry and begin a family of your own." His laughter faded, but his face was still lined in amusement as he patted her genially on the shoulder. "Don't worry; Ned will find you a good man soon enough."

"Thank you, your grace," Kyren said with an awkward nod.

In an obvious effort to cover the silence, Jon spoke once more. "Thank you, my king, for coming to speak with us. It has truly been an honor for us all."

The king chuckled once more. "To be honest with you, Jon, I was just on my way to take a piss and got caught up in speaking to everyone."

"We will keep you no longer, your grace," Maester Luwin said with an incline of his head. It was dangerously close to a dismissal, but the king's rosy cheeks and uneven gait said that, perhaps, he would not object too firmly at the moment. He nodded and moved away.

As soon as King Robert and his guard were at a polite distance, Maester Luwin rested a gentle hand on Kyren's shoulder. "Are you well, my dear?"

Unable to explain that she was not well without allowing the tears to escape, Kyren gave a watery smile. "If you will all excuse me," she mumbled, pushing back her seat to stand without waiting for any reply.

Kyren made her way briskly to a door, intending to go for a short walk in the comforting coolness of the Godswood, but glanced backward by chance and caught the eye of Lady Catelyn. The woman shook her head slightly, indicating that Kyren was to stay inside the raucous feast hall, and Kyren nodded her understanding across the room. They had important guests, ones who may make too much of her absence at such a celebration.

Deciding to venture toward a less-busy area of the feast hall, Kyren climbed the shallow steps at the back of the room, standing eventually on a section of flooring that rose an equal distance as the platform on which the royal dining table sat, but on the opposite side of the room. Positioned as she was, Kyren had ensured that she would see everything, yet be approached by no one.

Or so she had thought. A diminutive figure sidled up to her, casting furtive glances at her when she was unlikely to be looking. Finally, she caught him in the act and their eyes met, emerald green against pale brown. She could see that he was well on the way to drunkenness, even more-so than the king. They stood side-by-side, watching the room in silence.

Casting a sidelong glance up at Kyren, the short man said, "You are no great beauty."

Kyren watched him from the corner of her eye for a long moment. This was obviously the man known as the Imp, the one Arya had been so excited to catch a glimpse of. He had already been spoken of a great deal in Winterfell, both as Tyrion Lannister and the queen's brother. She smirked slightly before replying, "I daresay not."

"You smiled," he accused.

"I apologize."

"No, no, I wasn't offended," he rushed to say, acting as if the idea itself were preposterous. "I simply wish to know why you did."

Kyren shook her head slightly. "You are a very important person. One does not speak plainly to someone in such high standing."

"Ah, but I am a dwarf. There is no dignity awarded to someone born as I was and so I have no pride to hurt. Say what you will."

"You are a dwarf, yes, but still a Lannister."

"In name only," Lord Tyrion countered. "No father would claim a shrunken little beast like me."

He said it as if it were an indisputable fact and Kyren turned to study him more closely. He was formed differently than a normal man, that much was certain, but he carried himself with a certain air of confidence, eyes bright with sharp wit and a great intelligence.

"Even if that were so," she answered carefully, "That name still carries a warning to those who would speak flippantly. You are a dwarf _and_ a Lannister. I doubt either fact can null the other completely."

"In that case…" he drew himself up, holding his right hand in the air as he adopted a serious air. Gravely, he said, "With all the grace and humility of House Lannister and all the indignity and good humor that comes with dwarfism, I swear not to retaliate in any way when you reveal what you found such entertainment in considering."

Kyren took a deep breath, internally cursing herself for being so easily convinced of a Lannister's sincerity. "I have heard much about you, my lord, the majority flattering to you. I heard tales of your wondrous humor, your learned background, and the sharp blade of your wit. However, none of these avid speakers mentioned your appearance."

Lord Tyrion stared at her for a long moment, obviously turning her words around in his alcohol-addled mind. Finally, her meaning must have filtered through and he burst into near-bellows of laughter. When the fit had subsided, he wiped at his eyes and remarked, "I believe that is the kindest way I have ever been called ugly."

"I do not find you ugly, my lord, simply different," Kyren said honestly. "I was just surprised you would remark so readily on another's appearance."

The lingering amusement dropped from his face as he gave a half-bow. "Forgive me. I have consumed more wine than is perhaps wise and am prone to saying things I do not necessary mean."

Kyren laughed. "You meant it, and with good reason. I am no renowned beauty and there is no shame in that."

"There is not," he agreed readily enough. "I must warn you, as well-placed as was your trust in me, I would refrain from making similar comments to other members of my family."

"You must think the world a truly cruel place," she murmured.

"I think it so because it is," Lord Tyrion replied at length. "I fear I may have missed something, however. Why are we speaking of the world's cruelty?"

"Surely you don't believe I was cursed with an utter lack of brains to match my lack of beauty?" Lord Tyrion laughed once more and Kyren finished, "Our conversation will remain between us, my lord."

"That is a relief, Lady Sansa. I thank you." Kyren shifted uncomfortably and frowned, Lord Tyrion mirroring the expression soon after. "What is it, my lady?"

"I may finally have done something unforgivable, my lord," she answered, giving a weak smile. "I am not Lady Sansa, you see. I am no one near as important, just an orphan ward of Lord Stark's. He took me in after the death of my parents."

"Ah. Kyren, is it?" Lord Tyrion puffed out a breath, frowning even more intently now. "I must admit, that is a tremendous disappointment."

"I apologize for having wasted your time, Lord Tyrion," Kyren said demurely.

"Wasted? No, it is… Simply put, I found you to be quite witty. I had looked forward to having you accompany us to King's Landing."

"King's Landing?" Kyren parroted. "Why would Sansa be going to King's Landing?"

Lord Tyrion shrugged, shuffling a half-step closer as he lowered his voice. "Rumor has it we have traveled all this way so the king could personally ask Ned Stark to take on the position of Hand to the King. A position he'll accept, no doubt. Additionally, though my understanding of adolescent courtship customs is quite limited, I believe young Joffrey may have developed a liking for the girl I now realize must be Lady Sansa. A match would be to everyone's benefit."

The whirling intrigue and somewhat twisted logic was beginning to make Kyren's head spin. "I will bow to your superior knowledge in this matter."

"Wise," he said with a nod. There was a moment of quiet between the two before Tyrion looked up at her questioningly. "Did you not wonder about a random member of the royal family remarking upon your appearance?"

Kyren bit back a laugh. "No more than I would have if you had approached Lady Sansa and made the same remark. It would likely have destroyed her. Granted, it would have been far more difficult a mistake to make. Lady Sansa is indeed a great beauty." There was a tinge of pride in Kyren's eyes when she surveyed the younger girl.

Lord Tyrion followed her gaze. "Yes, she is," he agreed, sounding somber. "I fear it may be more detrimental than helpful in King's Landing, however."

A knot of worry tightened in Kyren's belly. "Is it truly so terrible a place?"

"Most certainly," he replied. "It has been an unexpected pleasure to meet you, Kyren, but I must leave. We have attracted the attention of the queen and that is never a good thing."

He hurried away and Kyren stared after him in confusion, but soon experienced the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. She glanced around slowly until she met the lovely green eyes of the queen. Kyren smiled politely at the woman and received no response. Suddenly eager to escape Queen Cersei's cold gaze, Kyren opted to move outside.

She wandered out into the courtyard, meandering leisurely until she heard the clanging of metal against metal. Kyren hurried then, rushing to see what had happened that called for the use of weapons, but found only Jon and Theon.

Their sparring was predictable, comforting and familiar as the winds that constantly buffeted Winterfell. Jon was better than any of the others, even managing to best Ser Rodrik on several occasions. Any who agreed to fight Jon with a blade had accepted that they would likely lose. For the younger challengers, it had become more of a test to see which could last the longest before finding themself disarmed. Currently, Robb held that particular title, but even Kyren could last longer than Theon. The Ironborn boy fared far better with his fists or his preferred weapon - the lance.

In archery and grappling, Robb and Theon were nearly matched. Jon's specialty was the sword, Robb had always excelled in hand-to-hand combat, Theon had practically been born with a lance in his hand, and Kyren competed against all of them. She couldn't hold a candle to any of the boys, but they pushed her, made her strive to improve. Besides, Kyren had her own talents. She was skilled at archery, performing better than any of the boys, though Arya still bested every one of them - and with far less opportunity for practice.

With Theon's unfortunate lack of prowess holding a sword, he was already struggling to fend off Jon, who was obviously attempting to hold back. Kyren said firmly, "I'll spar with Jon next." Both boys paused, glancing at her even with the blades of their swords crossed in the beginning of a rather ill-formed block.

"You intend to fight me in that dress?" Jon asked, dark grey eyes concerned, bewildered, and a tad amused.

"Lady Stark will send you to the Wall if you tear another gown," Theon reminded, not bothering to hid the joy he took from the memories of such prior incidents.

Kyren pulled a face as she moved for the barn, the change in expression her only reaction to their taunts. Once inside the musty shelter, she walked directly to the practice armory, located beside the saddles and tack. Though all the blades were purposely dulled, they were stored higher up so that the younger Stark children could not retrieve weapons and harm anyone. Kyren always used the same practice sword: lighter and carefully dulled, it was easy to handle but still strong enough to withstand Jon's confident maneuvers, Robb's heavy-handed swings, and Theon's frantic jabbing.

On her way back to the courtyard, Kyren paused to greet a few of her favorite horses, but still arrived at the door of the barn before the two boys could have moved into another fight… or so she had assumed. At first, her assumption was bolstered by the lack of sword noise and the apparent start of a conversation between Jon and Theon. However, as Kyren drew closer, she realized with a start that she did not recognize the voice speaking most often.

Holding the sword close to her legs, Kyren allowed the folds of her dress to obscure it from view before she stepped into the courtyard once more.

With a widening smile, the blond man who had been following the king during the feast turned to her, emerald eyes drifting down her form in a somewhat offensive manner. "Ah, here she is: the last member of Ned Stark's infamous pack of strays."

The taunting name wasn't unfamiliar to Kyren. Between Jon, Theon, and herself, Lord Stark had gained quite a reputation for collecting those no one else would find useful. Though some considered the name to be insulting, many more - especially of those who lived in the Northern part of Westeros - thought it to be proof of Ned Stark's kind nature.

All of this in mind, Kyren brushed off any insinuation of slander and gave a courtly bow. "Kyren Asheworth, Ser. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of an introduction."

"Ser Jaime Lannister," he answered, and if his bow held an extra flourish, she pretended not to notice. At the crescendo of the gallant gesture, his gaze flicked to the weapon in her hand, partially exposed by the motion of her skirts in the light breeze. He straightened, but grinned still more widely, seeming absolutely delighted as he asked, "And what were you planning to do with that sword, girl?"

Kyren glanced down at the weapon in her hand. "'Tis only a practice blade, Ser. I was planning to best Jon with it." Jon and Theon snorted and she smiled a bit. "I was going to try, more accurately."

"And what business does a lady have in a training yard with men like these two? Unless you do not claim to be a proper lady at all…" His eyes glinted wickedly as he added, "Improper ladies are my favorite type, I must admit."

Theon grumbled and Jon shifted uncomfortably, but the practiced delivery of a career rake did nothing to flatter Kyren and her cheeks were free from blush as she answered, "I'm no lady at all, Ser. I have no title, no lands, no authority. If you've heard stories of our group, I am sure this comes as no shock to you. My penniless background is well-documented by most gossipers."

After a moment of apparent discomfort - whether due to her fortunes or her bluntness, Kyren was uncertain - Ser Jaime asked condescendingly, "And you think yourself a master of the blade?"

Kyren shook her head instantly. "Most certainly not; Jon is the sword master of Winterfell. My own swordwork is average at best."

Ser Jaime opened his mouth, likely in an attempt to say something derisive, but was intercepted by Jon. "Kyren prefers daggers."

"Daggers?" The Kingsguard eyed Kyren with a new interest. "Those are very close-range weapons, girl. How is your grappling?"

"Poor, Ser," Kyren admitted honestly.

He _tsk_ 'd at her. "If you cannot grapple exceedingly well, daggers are as dangerous to the wielder as they are to the one being attacked."

"She don't stab people with the daggers… Ser," Theon tacked the title reluctantly to his haughty interjection. "Never gets close enough to grapple."

Jon nodded his agreement. "That is true. She throws them."

Ser Jaime's gaze darted from the boys to Kyren, still standing in the doorway of the barn. "You throw daggers?" he asked, voice heavy with disbelief.

Kyren nodded, but Jon continued speaking before she could. "She hunts rabbits with them, Ser. Her accuracy rivals that of most who favor use of the bow and arrow."

"Five daggers, five kills," Theon added with relish.

Ser Jaime's emerald eyes shone with grudging respect. "I would ask for a demonstration, but I am unsure of whether I condone a woman taking part in such behavior."

Kyren shrugged, uncaring of his criticism. "Fortunate that I am not asking for you to condone anything, then. I am not highborn, Ser, and my life may very well depend on my ability to defend myself in the future."

He lifted a golden brow. "I would think your safety would depend just as highly upon your husband's abilities."

"I have no husband at the moment. Until such time as one appears, I will continue to depend upon myself," Kyren answered firmly.

Ser Jaime eyed her, apparently taken aback by her blunt attitude. At length, he said, "For your sake, I hope you are as talented as these two seem to believe."

"I hope so as well, Ser," Kyren agreed politely.

He inclined his head - a muscle clenching in his sharply-angled jaw - and departed back into the warm chaos of the feast.

Kyren laughed in the sudden silence. "Were you attempting to impress a Lannister with my abilities?"

Theon nodded shamelessly. "Of course we were. He's seen a thousand men training to be fighters, but the idea of a woman doing the same threw him completely off balance."

"Still, I wish you would have found a way to warn me! Especially considering he was so-"

Jon cut her off, catching her at the elbow. "Mind what you say, even here. Winterfell is thick with Lannister guards."

"I had noticed!" Kyren exclaimed, lowering her voice at his narrowed glare. "Does the king think so little of Lord Stark to believe that he would allow the people of Winterfell to harm the royal family?"

"The men he brought were for the journey north, I would wager," Jon supplied. "The trip from King's Landing to Winterfell winds through many unsavory places."

"Or maybe he wanted protection from his protectors," Theon said conspiratorially. Jon and Kyren answered with matching expressions of silent confusion and he shrugged. "One member of his Kingsguard is called 'the Kingslayer'. I would not want my safety to depend upon him."

Jon nodded gravely, but Kyren couldn't suppress a grin. "'Kingslayer'? That is rather an impressive title. Hits just the right notes of menace."

"It isn't meant as a title; it is meant as a warning," Jon told her. "He swore oaths to defend his king and instead, killed him."

"A mad king," Kyren argued. "One bent on the destruction of Westeros. Was it not good that he was killed?"

"Disregard her, Jon," Theon jeered. "Kyren is a woman. She must have been blinded by all of that golden hair."

"How can it have blinded me, Theon? I have never met the Kingslayer," Kyren pointed out.

Jon began laughing then. "Ser Jaime will be devastated that he has left so little an impression."

"Ser Jaime is the Kingslayer?" Kyren asked, aghast.

"You mean to tell us you didn't know?" Theon jeered gleefully. "Any fool knows the identity of the Kingslayer."

His words stung Kyren's temper. Theon's attitude had improved markedly over the years, but he never missed an opportunity to remind everyone that he was highborn, not a bastard like Jon or worse - a penniless orphan taken in by Ned Stark because of his guilt.

"Not all of us grew up with history tutors, Greyjoy. Forgive my idiocy," she snarled venomously.

"Kyren!" Jon called. She did not turn back but she did stop. "Did you not want to spar?"

Before she even faced him directly, Kyren's practice sword was raised, ready for his attack. It was fortunate, as Jon's blade immediately clashed against her own as they moved in silent circles to test the other's footwork.

Ser Rodrik was fond of saying that no time spent practicing was wasted. Kyren did fairly well, but her heart wasn't in their duel and she feared she was close to wasting practice. After only minutes, she was disarmed and Jon returned the swords to the practice armory. When he emerged from the barn once more, Jon had a resigned look in his dark grey eyes. "Do you plan to accompany the Starks to King's Landing, Kyren?"

"Do you truly believe that Lord Stark will accept the King's request?"

Jon nodded solemnly. "King Robert is not a man easily rejected by anyone, especially Lord Stark. When the royal family returns to King's Landing, I feel certain that several members of the Stark household will accompany them." Kyren mused on that for only a moment before he pressed, "Will you be among them?"

She fell silent, an uncomfortable sense of inevitability creeping over her thoughts. After a moment of puzzling the idea, Kyren gave a slow nod. "I believe that would be easiest," she admitted. "I could travel with the Starks and benefit from the security of the king's numbers, then go my own way from King's Landing." The quiet after the reveal of her newly-conceived plan deepened as Kyren realized she was speaking of leaving Winterfell - likely never to return.

Abruptly, Jon volunteered, "I'm going to join the Night's Watch."

It was not truly a shock. A deaf, dumb, and blind imbecile could have guessed at Jon's intentions. He idolized his Uncle Benjen and spoken often of his desire to see the Wall. No small wonder, with the lack of acceptance Lady Stark had given him. Jon was honorable, loyal, protective, and a better swordsman than Winterfell should have been capable of producing. No, Kyren had always known Jon would join the Night's Watch, but she would miss him dearly and said as much.

"You will be a credit to the Watch, Jon. I shall rest easy knowing you are on the Wall, guarding us from wildlings and worse."

Jon nodded deeply, the motion only partially hiding the look of relief on his expressive face. "And I shall rest easy as well, knowing you are protecting the good people of Westeros from the evils committed by men."

"And I shall rest easiest of all, safe here at Winterfell with plenty of food and a warm bed," Theon proclaimed. Kyren suppressed a start, having long since forgotten he was still in the courtyard. "Unlike you two, I will stand a decent chance at living a full life without being stabbed."

Jon rolled his eyes at Theon while Kyren pretended to aim a punch at the Ironborn boy's arm. Theon laughed and jogged for the door leading back into the feast hall. "I am returning to the feast, where I won't have to suffer this abuse," he accused laughingly.

Left alone in the training yard with Jon, Kyren asked, "When will you journey for the Wall?"

"As soon as the king leaves Winterfell," he replied softly.

Kyren gave a weak smile. "I suppose we should enjoy our time here. We shall have to leave soon enough."

Jon smiled, offering his arm with a bow almost as ridiculous as the one delivered by Ser Jaime Lannister earlier in the evening. "May I escort you back to the feast, Kyren Asheworth?"

She accepted his arm with one of her laughably bad curtsies. "Thank you, Jon Snow. How positively gallant of you" The rapid flutter of her eyelashes made her stumble and set both to laughing as they moved back into the crowded feast hall.

* * *

Author's Note \- Longer chapter this time! I apologize for the inconsistent lengths, but I've decided to write the story before separating it into chapters rather than writing defined chapters as I tend to try making each chapter into a mini-story and it gets monotonous to read. Sorry for the odd tangent into my writing habits as well! Another quick explanation as I am already off-topic: the ways to which the characters are referred changes depending on whose POV we're in. Kyren, being young and awe-struck and trying so hard to be proper, thinks of everyone with their correct titles whereas others will simply think of them by their names.

All right, three chapters down, most characters have been introduced (for the beginning of the story, at least!), and we have a solid word-count going! On my end, I have several more chapters written, but I would like to focus on writing further plot rather than continue non-stop editing, so I likely won't update for roughly a week or so. Please let me know what you think so far and have a wonderful day!


	4. Chapter Three

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I own no rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights belong solely to George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which make me no money.

* * *

Chapter Three

The first morning after the king's arrival was an upheaval in routine for everyone. On a typical day, Kyren would have attended a midday lesson from Ser Rodrik in the company of Robb, Jon, and Theon. This morning, however, Lord Stark and King Robert had gone on a tour of the surrounding area. This was apparently something the king was wont to do when he visited a new area. Kyren privately believed that such thoughtfulness, however occasionally displayed, was a large part of the reason the people were so willing to put up with the king's generally poor-mannered nature. Naturally, as the future Lord of Winterfell, Robb had joined the royal tour.

Thus Kyren's lesson with Ser Rodrik had been moved to take place even earlier in the day as Theon and Jon were to accompany a group of men on a hunting trip. No one knew for certain how long the king would be staying at Winterfell, and none objected to the idea of a fully-stocked pantry. As the Starks were fond of saying: Winter is coming.

The Stark girls were both attending their lessons with Septa Mordane and Lady Catelyn was overseeing Bran and Rickon's riding lessons (being an excellent horsewoman herself, she possessed an insight rivaling even that of the riding instructor), leaving very few residents of Winterfell to freely roam the grounds.

All of these things considered, Kyren knew exactly who the group breakfasting in a side hall were: Queen Cersei and her family, all fairly late risers by the standards of Winterfell. Kyren was already tardy for her lesson with Ser Rodrik and wanted desperately to avoid a meeting with the woman already known to the occupants of Winterfell as 'the most beautiful woman in Westeros'. Kyren couldn't explain her extreme aversion to the queen, but something about the powerful blonde female put her teeth on edge.

Unfortunately, Kyren's path to the training yard took her around the edge of the side hall currently occupied by the royal family, and doubling back would most certainly cause her to be late to the lesson. Ser Rodrik was well-known for punishing tardiness with additional warmups and the use of the heaviest sword during drills. Kyren would rather not subject herself to such a morning.

Keeping her face toward the floor, Kyren shuffled inelegantly through the open space before the hall. She was moving at quite a clip and barely heard when Queen Cersei called, "Girl?"

She slowed, casting a confused glance over her shoulder. When she saw the queen was indeed speaking to her, Kyren returned to the table currently hosting the queen, her two younger children, Ser Jaime, Lord Tyrion, and their meals.

Queen Cersei made a regal gesture toward an unoccupied chair. "Please, sit. Break your fast with us."

"I apologize, your grace, but I am quite late for a meeting with Ser Rodrik." She tried to move away once more, but the queen spoke further.

"So it is true, then. Ned Stark allows you to train with the males of his household." The statement sounded bland enough to be inoffensive, but something about the queen's perfectly-coiffed hair and impeccable outfit - even so soon after she had risen from slumber - made Kyren incredibly insecure toward her own simple braid and well-worn breeches. Queen Cersei's emerald eyes glittered as she slanted them at Kyren. "Why is that?"

"I learned at a young age the importance of the ability to defend oneself, one's property, and those one loves," Kyren explained, striving to keep a balance between courtesy and speed. "When I had been at Winterfell long enough to become literate, Lord Stark and I agreed that I would benefit far more from learning to fight rather than how to care for a large household. I know certain elements, of course, but I am from a poor family and unlikely to match with a Lord or even a wealthy man, your grace."

"A poor family? And which family would that be?" the queen asked, seeming genuinely curious. Kyren's mistrust continued.

"The Asheworths, your grace."

"One has to wonder about these northern names," Ser Jaime sighed impatiently. "After all, what is the worth of ash?"

"Begging your pardon, Ser," Kyren said with a shallow bow, "but living so far north; indeed, just south of the Wall… We know the worth of a good fire."

Lord Tyrion's brow quirked. "Why not 'Fireworth', then? For Jaime is right; there is little worth to ash."

Kyren spread her hands away from her body in a show of humble ignorance. "In truth, my lord, I never thought to ask my father. If I had to hazard a guess, however, it would be that we _are_ the ashes. The cold, the winters, the harshness of life here… They could all be considered the metaphorical fire. It burns and burns and we are what is left." She let a corner of her mouth quirk up a bit. "Or my ancestors did not put as much thought into a name as we are doing now."

"Have you ever been to the Wall?" Lord Tyrion asked abruptly, regarding her with interest.

"No, my lord. We live close to the Wall, but not close enough for regular trips."

"Would you really wish to see it if you had the choice?" Queen Cersei asked derisively.

Kyren smiled softly. "I have always wanted to see the Wall. It is an incredible feat of engineered defense… At least, that is what Ser Rodrik says. I simply cannot force my mind to comprehend something so large and I always hoped that seeing it with my eyes would force understanding." Kyren came back to herself, remembering where she stood and to whom she was speaking. "But it is impossible, your grace. The Wall is no place for a woman, even one trained in combat."

"Well, I'm going to go and see it," Lord Tyrion said firmly. "Perhaps I'll have the chance to tell you about it at a later date."

That in particular took Kyren aback. "You are going to the Wall, Lord Tyrion? For what purpose?"

"I am going to piss from the side of it, off the very end of the world," he replied with relish.

Kyren stifled a laugh while Cersei rose to her feet. "I will not sit here and listen to such filth, much less subject my children to it." She looked to Kyren then. "I would advise you to leave as well. He does not grow less offensive with exposure."

With that, the queen was gone and Kyren had a new chance for escape. "If you gentlemen will excuse me…"

"Wait a moment, girl," Lord Tyrion ordered, holding up one rough hand. "I hear you approve of Jaime's title."

Kyren was stymied at that. Was she meant to disagree with Jaime Lannister being a knight, or a Kingsguard? "I am sorry, my lord?"

"'Kingslayer'. You found it to be formidable, correct?"

So Jon had been correct and there was no truly private place in Winterfell at the moment. Kyren turned to face both men once more, finding a satisfied-looking Lord Tyrion while Ser Jaime occupied himself by picking absently at the food on his plate. "It is quite an intimidating title, my lord. It tells men that Ser Jaime is one to be feared."

"It tells them I am not to be trusted," Jaime muttered.

Kyren puzzled that over carefully before forming her response. "Begging your pardon once more, Ser, but it tells them that you are unpredictable. An enemy you cannot predict is the most dangerous kind." Ser Jaime looked skeptical, but Kyren held his emerald gaze and continued undeterred. "You are a member of the Kingsguard. The king must trust you or he would not have you guarding his person. So long as the king trusts you and other men fear you, let them call you what they will."

Lord Tyrion seemed to think that over and Ser Jaime stared at her with that same piercing look, but Kyren had no time to speak any longer. "I apologize once more, but I really am most dreadfully late. Lord Tyrion, Ser Jaime…" Kyren gave a half-bow in their direction and walked as quickly for the training yard as she could while not breaking out into a run.

* * *

"That will be enough for today," Ser Rodrik announced, allowing Jon, Theon, and Kyren to drop the weapons from the position of their last sword drill.

Kyren's arms burned fiercely. She had been undeniably tardy to the session and was ordered to use the heaviest sword, the hardest-to-draw bow, and - since Robb was absent - had faced off against Ser Rodrik himself. The older man was just as skilled as Jon, but was far more willing to use every ounce of his strength against the much-smaller Kyren. It had been an exhausting session, and the only consolation was that Kyren had only lessons with Maester Luwin to take up her evening rather than the start of a days-long hunting trip.

"When do you boys depart?" Ser Rodrik asked, thoughts obviously similar to Kyren's own.

"Not for a few hours yet," Jon answered. He had hardly begun to sweat at the end of their training while Kyren was nearly drowning in her soaked clothing.

"Have you fully prepared to leave?" Ser Rodrik asked, adding slowly, "There is always an opportunity for additional drills as you have such a great deal of time left."

Jon smilingly shook his head and took his weapons back in the direction of the practice armory, but Theon gave a wicked grin. "I've already packed. I can stay for a while."

"Wonderful! I believe Kyren could use some additional grappling practice."

"But Ser-" Kyren argued.

Ser Rodrik interrupted her harshly. "Are you disobeying your instructor, girl?"

"No, Ser Rodrik," she said reluctantly.

"Good. I believe the best of three should be sufficient."

"Three?!" Kyren repeated in horror. Ser Rodrik lifted a snowy brow and she adopted a more respectful tone as she said, "It seems a more extreme punishment than is typical for you."

"You were more extremely tardy than is typical for you," he responded. "Begin."

Without warning, Theon leapt at her, tackling Kyren to the ground before she truly knew what was happening. After that poor start, Kyren rallied slightly, escaping several holds before Theon pinned her. "Yield?" he asked, and she nodded before he let her up.

"One point to Greyjoy," Ser Rodrik said contemptuously. "Asheworth, do not allow Greyjoy to win so easily next time. It would be a pleasant change to see you score at least once against the boy."

Kyren sighed. "I am trying, Ser. I have never managed to pin him before."

"And that means you should not strive to do so now?" He shook his head in disgust. "Again."

She stared after him for a moment, gritting her teeth to hold back an angry retort. A rustle from behind her made Kyren whirl around to see Theon lunging at her once more, apparently choosing to continue using the method that had previously worked so well for him.

The boys had always been in possession of several advantages over Kyren in grappling: they were unencumbered by long hair, they could remove their shirts, and they often fought barefoot. Kyren's best defense of her hair was to bind it in a braid, but it was still easily manipulated by the boys. Shirtless men were much harder to grasp and pin down than ones whose clothing could allow for handholds, and their more-considerable weight allowed them to fight merely by standing on Kyren's bare feet when she opted to remove her shoes. All of these were weaknesses Kyren had struggled to overcome and she had been devising a plan for several months. As it happened, Theon had finally placed himself into the perfect position for her to use said plan.

As the Ironborn boy pushed himself across the mud of their grappling pit, one of his feet slipped, throwing his tackle slightly off-center. Kyren side-stepped it easily, whirling around to lunge at him while he was still in the process of recovering his balance. She knocked him to the ground, riding his body so that he took the full impact of their fall. They landed with Theon on his stomach, Kyren on his back. Her knees were on his elbows, one muscular forearm wrapped around the back of his head and anchored against his throat.

Slowly, Kyren pushed forward, applying increasing pressure on his windpipe. "Yield," she ordered lowly.

Theon was obviously reluctant to do as she said, but he was well and truly pinned. He wasn't flexible enough to kick her, lacked the leverage to buck her off, and his fists could only clench and unclench in the mud. He held off regardless, coughing once - twice - then muttered almost inaudibly, "I yield."

Kyren looked at Ser Rodrik for confirmation before she released Theon and the old knight nodded. "Best release him, girl, before he loses consciousness."

She did and Theon slowly staggered up to his feet. Kyren wanted to crow her pride at finally beating the Ironborn boy, but there was a wild look in Theon's eyes that warned that he would do his best to retaliate - and he still had one more chance.

After both retreated to their individual sides of the yard, Ser Rodrik barked, "Begin!"

Theon took his time then, circling as he eyed Kyren warily. She knew he was seeking a weakness and refused to show fear. Finally, he came at her, aiming low on her legs. Kyren tried to lever herself upward and over his shoulders, giving herself the advantage, but her hands slipped uselessly over Theon's sweat-slicked skin.

Instead of landing atop him, Kyren found herself crushed by Theon's weight. Having been slightly stunned by her collision with the ground, she made only part of an escape attempt before he attempted to slip an arm around her neck. Left with few other options, Kyren headbutted him - never a wise choice, as it stunned her still further, but she managed to roll out from under him. At the last moment before she got to her feet, a hand seized her ankle and Kyren landed hard on her right shoulder. Flipping to her back, she struck out with her left elbow, catching Theon in the mouth. With a sharp curse, he kneed her stomach and took advantage of the momentary breathlessness that followed to flip her onto her front.

In half a second, Kyren was pinned in much the same way as she had Theon: face-down with him on her back. His knees pinned her legs - the boys having discovered long ago that Kyren's legs were quite flexible and capable of kicking even from awkward angles - while her arms were anchored behind her back, held firmly in his large hands.

"Do you yield?" he asked, and the smile in his voice made Kyren's blood boil.

"Theon, you thrice-cursed son of an iron-mongering whore! ...I yield."

Theon released her, springing to his feet while she rolled to her back. He extended a hand to the glaring girl, whose expression turned to a rueful smile as she accepted the assistance. When Kyren was on her feet, she embraced the Ironborn irritant. It was a warrior's embrace, a quick clasp about the shoulders before pulling back once more.

"I know you're better at grappling than I am, but must you always take such pleasure in grinding me to dust?" Kyren asked, rotating the shoulder she knew would be tender for days.

Theon grinned widely. "I had to prove I still could! That's the first time you've ever beaten me. I could hardly believe you did even while it was happening."

"Is that why you took so long to yield?" Kyren laughed. "I thought I would have to wait until you were unconscious!"

"There were spots in my eyes," Theon admitted.

"That is all for now," Ser Rodrik told them. "Theon, you may ready yourself for your hunting trip. Kyren, clean the practice armory."

"But Ser!" Kyren protested. "I finally beat Greyjoy today! Surely that calls for a hint of lenience."

"I agree," the knight said. "That is why I did not order you to clean the entirety of the barn. Work well, Asheworth. I will check to see that you did." With that, Ser Rodrik left the training yard with Theon, the younger man clapping Kyren on the (uninjured) shoulder as he departed.

Before Kyren could truly settle into melancholy, the air was filled with rain and she retreated into the barn, opting to work next to the practice armory. The barn was stuffy, the stagnant air smelling constantly of mildew and dust with a healthy dose of horse and hay. It was dim and dirty, but at least Kyren was protected from the weather as she set to her assigned task.

Kyren had only just finished arranging all the weaponry onto the proper hooks and shelves when her thoughts - and absent-minded humming - were interrupted.

"That was quite the training session," a voice said pleasantly.

Kyren started, but forced herself not to look back until her path took her toward the door of the barn. "Yes, it was," she responded simply. "Did you see much of it?"

"Enough," Ser Jaime answered, helpfully removing the lid to the scrap metal bucket to allow Kyren to throw in a disused sword hilt she had found. "Are they always so intense?"

"Not always. Robb is here most days, and he is a better match to Jon's sword skills than Theon."

"I understand Ser Rodrik was upset with you."

Kyren noted his bland tone and considered it as she finished wiping dust from the tops of the shelves holding the spare bowstrings. With that complete, she retrieved a broom and began raking the packed-dirt floor with short, careful strokes. Finally, she said, "He was displeased by my tardiness this morning."

"Partially my fault," he murmured. "Shall I explain to him what happened to cause your tardiness?"

"There is no need," Kyren assured, observing his surprise at the quiet refusal. "I have made amends on my own terms with no great injury."

"Still, no one should be punished for obeying the orders of their queen."

Kyren snorted at that. It seemed there was a new story every day of a person being punished for obeying the wrong order. In a flash, she remembered to whom she was speaking and gave a shallow bow in apology. "I beg your pardon, Ser Jaime, but Ser Rodrik hardly needs an excuse to punish me. He never has before."

He stared at her, emerald eyes piercing in the gloom. "He is harder on you than the others."

It was not phrased as a question, but Kyren answered it regardless. "He is, Ser, but only because he wants me to improve." Ser Jaime lifted a skeptical brow and Kyren gave a careless shrug. "Or he despises me. Difficult to know for certain which."

"Delightful," he said dryly. "I still plan to speak with him about this at first opportunity."

Kyren smiled softly, keeping her eyes on the ground before her sweeping broom. "Why does a member of the Kingsguard care what goes on in the training sessions of an orphan?"

"He doesn't," Ser Jaime replied harshly. "Why should I care about someone so far beneath me, you presumptuous thing?"

The smile fell from Kyren's face as she bowed apologetically once more. "Of course you would not, Ser. Please forgive my foolishness."

The golden-haired knight turned on his heel and strode out of the musty barn without another word and Kyren returned to her cleaning.

* * *

' _Care'_ , Jaime scoffed to himself, striding powerfully down a deserted hallway. _I don't care about anything the orphan girl does. I would rather avoid even being in the same area... It is the injustice I despise, not Cassel's treatment of her... I should simply allow the old man to work her to death. Perhaps then her witch's eyes will stop haunting me…_

Still, despite the harsh thoughts toward the orphan, Jaime's thoughts returned more than once to the session he had witnessed. It had been obvious that the old knight had been attempting to force Kyren into admitting her inability to continue, but equally as obvious had been the girl's determination to finish the training regardless. She had been noticeably exhausted, limbs shaking and face red, but had continued despite everything - and had still performed impressively.

"Ser! Ser Jaime!" He turned impatiently to see one of the guards rushing toward him. "Message from the queen, Ser. Said it was urgent, needed to be delivered straight away."

Jaime took the wax-sealed note from the slightly-panting guard and moved to open it before he realized the man had yet to move from the spot, watching Jaime open the letter with an air of fascination. Jaime's hands stilled and the guard glanced up at him in confusion. After seeing Jaime staring at him expectantly, the guard flushed.

"If it is urgent, you might be needing help to follow the queen's orders, mightn't you, Ser?"

"Doubtful," he drawled, immediately crushing the hope on the young guard's face. In an attempt to add even greater insult, he studied the guard, allowing his sharp gaze to linger on the shorter man's weak chin and slightly-bulging belly. "But if I should prove unsuited for whatever challenge lies in this missive, I shall know where to find you."

The guard, understanding that he was being mocked, scowled and walked away with a dark look that Jaime ignored. The letter was coded according to a secret language the twins had devised when they were still quite young. They had used it frequently over the years, and now the symbols were as easy as real letters for them to understand - or, in Jaime's case, far easier.

 _Dearest brother,_

 _My husband and Ned Stark will be away on a hunt for a full day one week from tomorrow. I hope we can take advantage of the privacy? I miss you terribly._

 _Cersei_

Jaime thought over his sister's request, staring from a window that, to his displeasure, overlooked the training yard. The orphan girl must have finished her work, as she was currently hurrying though the rain and into the protection of Winterfell's stone walls. Crushing Cersei's missive in his fist, Jaime continued down his chosen hall. He should have been thrilled by his sister's news. Admittedly, Jaime was fond of flirting with women, making them blush and giggle - the surge of power he felt from earning their admiration being almost sexual in nature - but Cersei was the only woman with whom he chose to lay. Cersei was his one love and he had not been alone with her since they began the journey north more than a month before.

 _It must be the weather,_ he decided. _This bloody northern cold makes a man want to put on clothes, not take them off._ Satisfied by the explanation of his own odd reaction, Jaime returned to staring out the windows he passed. Idly, he noted a nearby tower he had been told was abandoned. After a brief pause for thought, Jaime embarked on a search for ink and parchment with a whistle on his lips and a new spring in his step. He had found the perfect place to meet with Cersei.

* * *

"Let me test my understanding," Cersei requested, perfect mouth twisted into a sneering smile. "She heard the name 'Kingslayer' and told you it was intimidating, then said you are both dangerous and trustworthy." She laughed and it was like the image she presented to the world - glittering and cold and perfect. "It seems as if you have gained another love-struck girl to follow you around.

Jaime thought that over. In the week since he had last spoken to the orphan girl, she hadn't blushed when he was nearby, or fumbled for words in his presence, or giggled to gain his attention. Quite the opposite, in fact: she seemed perfectly content to go about her business and not speak to him at all. He had watched several of the training sessions after that first day. Though he had been tucked away in one of the second-story windows, he had been spotted by Robb Stark, Ned's bastard, the old knight, and the kraken boy, but the orphan hadn't seen him. Or, if she had, she was choosing to ignore him completely.

"I don't believe that is it," he said eventually. "Perhaps she was speaking the truth from her perspective."

Cersei snorted delicately. "Forgive me if I continue to assume she is trying to gain something. Everyone is."

Jaime shook his head. "Not necessarily. It is possible she is mad or not very bright. She is a girl who watched her parents' murder. Surely that does not lead to a sound mind."

"Perhaps not, but she is likely to journey with us to King's Landing," Cersei warned. "And as much as I _despise_ watching you flirt… we need to win the orphan to our side. It could be useful for us to have someone in the Stark household."

"An orphan?" Jaime asked skeptically. "What good could she possibly do?"

"Let us assume you're right and she has nothing to gain from our attention. If she grows fond of us, she will speak in our favor to Ned Stark's daughters. He listens to them. No ill can come of having her on our side."

"So you wish for me to..?" he trailed off, smiling oddly. "Make friends with the girl? Brush our hair? Share all of our secrets?"

"Most assuredly not that," Cersei answered with a laugh. "But while friendship will soften a heart, love will blind it."

Jaime laughed abruptly, disbelievingly. "You want me to make the orphan girl fall for me?"

Cersei smiled her perfect smile and stepped closer, trailing a soft hand across his jaw. "I am certain you will prove more than a match for the challenge."

"Oh, a challenge, is she? Unlikely." Jaime seized Cersei's hand at the wrist and pulled her off-balance. With her held tightly in his arms, staring up at him with emerald eyes so like his own, Jaime gave a predatory smile. "But you will have to make it worth the effort, my queen."

She hummed willingly at him and pulled his head down until their lips crashed together.

* * *

Author's Note \- Sorry for the Jaime/Cersei bit at the end. It's a bit more incest than I would have chosen to write, but I tried to portray as little as possible. Also, I did what I could for this chapter, but I couldn't quite get rid of the cheesy parts - saying the title of the story in the story, a challenge to win someone over, etc. They're important plot-wise, even if I do find them somewhat cringey to read. Let me know how they come across and if you have any suggestions for improvement!

Special shoutout to everyone who is following or has favorited this story! You guys are truly appreciated. Extra special thanks to apester for being my first reviewer (well, first who wasn't just requesting a tag change). Reviews are gold, guys. Really. I do not have a set update schedule, but when I start figuring out when the next chapter will go live, I try to give my reviewers a better idea of when to expect updates through private message. Just in case that makes it worthwhile for you!

That should be it for this chapter! Thank you so much for reading, let me know what you thought, and have a wonderful day!


	5. Chapter Four

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, plots, characters, settings, etc. These rights belong to George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which make me no money.

* * *

Chapter Four

 _Several Weeks Later:_

"Where are we going?" Kyren asked as she stumbled over a tree root. The two were deep in the forests surrounding Winterfell and Maester Luwin had yet to give any real explanation for their journey.

"We are looking for a very specific flower that blooms only on the very edge of winter. This summer has stretched for so many years that my stores have long since run out. It is known as the Soul Tether."

"Unless you wish for me to call for it by name and hope it comes to us, I will need a description," Kyren said cheekily.

"Look for a large-petaled bloom nearly the size of an outspread hand. It will be a very distinctive color. Similar to your eyes, in fact," Maester Luwin mused thoughtfully.

"A brown flower is certainly distinctive, but sounds as if it would be better left alone," Kyren returned, studying the forest around them.

He clucked softly at her. "Denying the traits which set us apart do not cause them to disappear."

She had no response to that and occupied herself in the search for the peculiarly-named Soul Tether. So absorbed was she in looking for the flower that Kyren nearly did npt notice what surrounded her, but when she did, she began to laugh.

"Have you found it?" Maester Luwin called through the trees.

"No," she answered, "but have we any need for Dragon's Tears?"

"There is always a need for Dragon's Tears," he replied, climbing through the underbrush that separated them. When he could see her, a smile crept across his weathered face. "You seem to have stumbled upon quite a patch of it."

Indeed she had. The dull grey leaves stretched across the entire clearing in which Kyren stood and she began to gather them dutifully. Maester Luwin watched the process with a faraway look in his dark eyes.

"Do you remember when you first learned of Dragon's Tears?"

Kyren made a face. "Of course I do. You speak of it often enough!"

"And why are they called Dragon's Tears, Kyren?" he asked in the voice he used when imparting wisdom or searching her memory.

"Maester Luwin…" she groaned.

He shook his head, "No, I'm afraid I had nothing to do with it. All name choices were made long before I became a Maester."

Kyren sighed. "Legends say that dragons were capable of breathing flames that burned hotter than any other fire. There was only one way to cure a burn caused by dragonfire: for one of the creatures to shed a tear on the wound. The Dragon's Tears plant is said to have sprouted where those tears seeped into the earth. It is used to ease inflammation, both externally and internally. Have I passed your test, Maester?"

"Of course," he replied easily, pretending not to notice the mocking edge to her voice. "Do you remember how disappointed you were by its appearance?"

Kyren closed her eyes for a moment, praying to the Seven for patience. "Yes, Maester. I had hoped something so closely associated with dragons would be more visually appealing."

A soft smile crept across his face. "I have so enjoyed your company, my dear. I shall be quite sad to see you leave Winterfell."

Kyren paused, a half-filled sack of Dragon's Tears in front of her. She wasn't surprised at all that Maester Luwin knew of her upcoming departure, but she did experience a pang of guilt about leaving the man who had such an impact on her life. "I feel as if I am failing you, Maester," she admitted.

"Failing me?" he asked in obvious surprise. "Kyren, how could you think such a thing?"

"You spent so much time teaching me the ways of medicine and healing and I am going to take that knowledge elsewhere. It feels… traitorous."

Maester Luwin chuckled. "The only failure I fear is if we cannot find this flower before my knees begin aching far worse than they do currently."

A short time later, Maester Luwin discovered the flower for which they were searching - but only one. He claimed it would be enough to help Bran, but Kyren could tell he was concerned. The Maester always liked to have more than he needed, just in case he made a mistake. As long as Kyren had been watching, he had never made a mistake.

The two hiked quickly back to Winterfell, but Kyren found herself pausing to look up at the abandoned tower. Maester Luwin walked a few steps further before joining her.

"He fell," she said softly. "He never falls. Now he has been asleep for more than a fortnight and we do not know if he will ever wake."

Maester Luwin's hand settled on Kyren's shoulder. "Young Bran is alive, Kyren, and as long as he lives, there is hope. I will drain the juice from the Soul Tether and it will bind his soul to his body. He will find his way back from wherever he has wandered."

"Do you really think he will wake?" Kyren asked, hating how young her voice sounded.

"Yes, I do. He may experience damage to his body, but he will live. I only pray it happens before Lord Stark must leave with the king."

Kyren made a confused noise at that. Bran's fall had been such a tragedy that she had forgotten that life would continue. "Surely he would not- Will we still go?"

Maester Luwin smiled at her sadly. "Westeros cannot pause its existence because one life hangs in the balance. The king is needed in King's Landing and Lord Stark must accompany the king."

Nodding, Kyren pulled herself away from the tower. She followed Maester Luwin to his apothecary in silence, thinking about Bran. She hadn't been around the young boy often, but by virtue of spending time with Robb, Jon, and Theon - all of whom made an effort to be around Bran - she was familiar enough to ache with the thought of his potential loss.

When they had reached the apothecary, Kyren deposited her bag of Dragon's Tears on a worktable. "It's probably for the best that you are journeying to King's Landing," Maester Luwin mused softly, reaching for the mortar and pestle he kept on a high shelf. "You would have made a terrible healer. You hold too many grudges."

He returned to his workstation as Kyren was preparing to be insulted, but she caught the mischievous gleam in his eyes. Instead, she gave a loud snort. "I think your memory is beginning to fail you, old man. Who was the one to put Heatleaf in the smallclothes of that man so obnoxiously determined to court Sansa? If grudges are my failing, petty revenge is yours."

He blinked at her, feigning a startled naivety. "I am certain I have no idea what you mean."

Kyren shook her head. "Surely somewhere among all the vows you took to become a Maester, the subject of lying was addressed?"

"Yes, I believe it was," Maester Luwin admitted eventually. "I swore never to tell a lie… to anyone I am currently treating."

They both broke into laughter, but were thrown back into silence by a new voice from the door. "Forgive my intrusion, but I'll freely admit that is a sound I have missed over these last weeks."

Kyren stiffened, but Maester Luwin fielded the new presence as though he had been aware long before the statement was made. Inclining his head, the older man said, "No interruption to forgive, my lord, but I fear there has been little cause for laughter of late."

Tyrion glanced at the pile of Dragon's Tears. "Dare I hope this means a breakthrough has been made?"

Maester Luwin shook his head. "I am afraid not. Kyren and I have been out gathering Dragon's Tears in hopes of reducing any inflammation in young Bran's body."

"Dragon's Tears require several days to prepare, do they not?"

The Maester smiled. "You know medicine, my lord," he said with an air of praise. "Yes, the process of creating a liquid form of their healing prowess will require two to three days."

Kyren glanced at him, careful to move only her eyes so not to attract attention from their guest. There was only one reason Maester Luwin would lie about Bran's treatment: he distrusted someone at Winterfell. Though he was speaking directly to Tyrion Lannister, there was always the concern that the man would reveal details to someone else.

As if in confirmation, Maester Luwin met Kyren's gaze with a gleam of urgency in his eyes before returning them to Lord Tyrion. Kyren had worked with the Maester closely enough to recognize his sub-vocal meaning: he wished her to lure Tyrion away so he could work with the Soul Tether flower in privacy.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Kyren finally said, "Lord Tyrion? I did wish to speak with you if you have a spare moment."

"Of course," he agreed readily. "Shall we move elsewhere?"

"Please," Kyren assented, crossing to the door. "Alert me at once if I may assist with anything, Maester Luwin."

"I certainly will do so, Kyren."

Kyren strode from the room, Lord Tyrion trailing behind her. She purposefully chose a circuitous route from the apothecary in an attempt to confuse the Lannister about its exact location and moved a tad faster than would be comfortable for the short man so he didn't have an excess of time to study their surroundings.

When finally they emerged on nearly the opposite side of Winterfell, Kyren spoke. "It appears you were correct about Lord Stark and his decision to accept the position as Hand of the King."

"Unsurprising," Lord Tyrion remarked blandly.

"I believe I will join the company on their journey south."

He hummed at that. "Also not a surprise. A girl who has spoken of her desire to create a life for herself would need distance from places like Winterfell. King's Landing, as a major city, is much more conducive to traveling."

"Very true," Kyren responded, "Which brings me to the point of this conversation: you told me once that King's Landing is a terrible place."

"Because it is," Lord Tyrion interjected.

"In what sense?" she pressed. "Is it possible to avoid any dangers or inconveniences? Are there any hints you could give about the best way to navigate? Should I warn the Starks?"

"Ned Stark knows well enough the sort of place King's Landing is, it is why he attempted to dissuade Jon Arryn from accepting the position of Hand when it was offered so many years ago. He will likely warn his family before they begin the journey. There is no way to avoid all dangers in the city, but I do have one hint for you: trust no one."

It was a simple enough thing to say. After all, trusting no one in an unfamiliar city seemed quite a logical course of action to Kyren, but she sensed Lord Tyrion meant more than that. "Surely there are some who may be trusted in time?"

"Everyone you will meet in King's Landing is either being paid to watch for information or anticipating a chance to do so. As someone accompanying the Starks, everything you do will be of interest and people will watch for any word or action that may be reported in exchange for gold." Lord Tyrion smirked, but not cruelly. "I have seen your surprise that some of our people pass information along to us. It is a habit one forms in the city, to go nowhere without spies. That would be something well worth remembering."

Kyren stared at him, vaguely horrified by his insinuation of an utter lack of privacy. "Why in the name of the Seven would you choose to stay in a place like that?"

"What choice do I have? Living as a dwarf means I have little protection . I am safest in a place where most fear my family - or, at the very least, my father."

"Your father?"

"Tywin Lannister." The answer was simple, obvious, and even Kyren was familiar with the name, but the information had not been disclosed by the short man standing beside her.

* * *

Jamie had not planned on interrupting the conversation between his brother and the orphan girl, but the way they were standing - so close together in an abandoned hallway - irked him deeply. She had not so much as glanced in Jaime's direction for nearly a full month, but here she was, confiding in the youngest Lannister as if they were the closest of companions. He had been on a minor mission for the Kingsguard, but he had stopped - fully armed and wearing his everyday leather armor - in order to disturb their conversation.

The girl was obviously taken aback by his presence, but she recovered well. "Tywin Lannister is your father. I should have put that together sooner."

"Yes, you should have," Jaime agreed bluntly. "But you've displayed a shocking lack of knowledge about our family since we arrived. I would expect no different from you."

She colored slightly. "I apologize, Ser. When news travels this far north, it is usually hopelessly exaggerated, completely untrue, or far too important to be relayed to anyone other than Lord Stark. I tend not to know much of events happening outside of Winterfell."

"A dangerous way to live, Kyren," Tyrion said, being far more kind than Jaime had planned. "Especially for one whose aspirations stretch far beyond these walls."

Aspirations? The girl had aspirations? Yes, she had said as much to the king, but what a person said meant little, at least in Jaime's experience. If she was indeed telling the truth, why had she chosen to confide in Tyrion, of all people? Jaime was the one charged with winning the girl's affections and Tyrion's involvement would only serve to make the situation more complex.

"I must admit, I am surprised to find you seeking companionship so soon," Jaime said nastily. "I had thought the day of our arrival would have left you… satisfied."

Tyrion's eyes sharpened. In a jovial voice that managed to mask his irritation, he returned, "You know me, brother. I am never fully satisfied."

The girl snorted, interrupting a tense silence. "I hope you were not with Ros, then. She would be devastated to hear she had allowed you to leave without reaching complete satisfaction."

The only consolation Jaime had for the idiotic way he was staring at the orphan girl was that Tyrion was doing much the same and looked all the more foolish for it.

She looked a tad exasperated then. "Really, my lord, Ser… You do remember that most of my days are spent in the company of three young men, correct? I am not completely naive, nor am I stupid. I am well aware of what you are speaking, despite your clever euphemisms and pretty phrases."

This conversation was not at all going the way Jaime had assumed it would and he strove to regain the upper hand. "Tyrion spent the day of our arrival in the local brothel with a handful of whores I paid to give him use of their bodies. Is that enough to shock you?"

Wearing a considering expression, as if he had been truly asking rather than attempting to cause discomfort, the girl said, "No, but I do know at least one boy who would be quite jealous he lacks the funds to recreate the experience."

"You do not speak at all like a young maiden, even one who spends time in the company of men," Tyrion said slowly. "Why would they tell you about all of these things? Unless you have quite the talent for eavesdropping?"

She blushed a miniscule amount. "I apologize for the crass bluntness of this conversation, but the boys used to say shocking things to disturb me during training sessions, put me off balance. It is no longer effective, but I have heard far more about Ros, and prostitutes, and the needs of young men than I ever wished to learn."

"Did they all intend to make a whore of you?"

Even as the question left his mouth, Jaime knew a line had been crossed. The girl's face went white as she dropped her gaze to the floor and Tyrion shot him a powerful glare. Even before his younger brother silently urged him to do so, Jaime attempted to make amends.

"I apologize. That comment was unworthy."

She nodded, but made no attempt at eye contact as she said, "I imagine the Starks would be disappointed in such results from their charity."

"Well…" Tyrion trailed. "I have no intentions in that direction, I give you my word, but there is a sort of honor in being the companion to a high-ranking official. I tell you this only because, if you intend to spend any length of time in King's Landing, there is always the chance that you may catch the attention of some such person. Taking offense - though completely understandable - may be seen as a rather grave insult."

She nodded and gave the ghost of a smile. "I thank you for the implied compliment, Lord Tyrion, but my aspirations lie in another direction, as you well know."

Tyrion nodded gravely, but before Jaime could ask exactly what these aspirations might be, they were interrupted by yet another person.

"Arya? Are you well?" the girl asked, concern thick in her voice.

Arya Stark was young, thin, dark-haired, and sharp. Even now, her light gaze darted between the three, assessing the situation and planning her actions based on what she found. The skill would prove useful in the event Ned Stark was truly so foolish as to bring his younger daughter to King's Landing.

"I wanted to speak with you," Arya admitted, looking straight at her father's female ward as if she could will both Lannisters out of existence if she but pretended they were not there.

"Of course," the red-haired girl assented. "If you will excuse me, my lord? Ser?" With that, she bustled over to the young girl and the two made their way rapidly to a more private destination.

After they had left, Tyrion turned to Jaime and hissed, "Have you taken full leave of your senses? What could you possibly have been thinking to say such a thing to that girl?"

Jaime laughed derisively, his regretful show of temper roaring back at the accusation in Tyrion's voice. "That girl? The orphan? I cannot see how it matters in what way I speak to her."

"Cannot see how it matters?" Tyrion repeated, incredulity in his voice. "For one thing, she is going to be accompanying you to King's Landing. It is never a wise choice to make an enemy of a person trained to fight when you will be forced to share their company for an extended journey. More importantly, however, Kyren Asheworth is a ward of Ned Stark - the future Hand of the King - and you just gravely insulted her honor. If she confides in him concerning your behavior, his new position could allow him to make your life extremely difficult."

Jaime smirked. "Considering our sister's position and the wealth of our father, I do not believe I have much to fear from Ned Stark."

"Yes, of course. Considering that the man already despises you and is close friends with King Robert himself, why not attempt to further earn his undying enmity? House Lannister can defend itself against House Stark, but not without heavy casualties." Tyrion shook his head. "You are my brother, but you are acting even more foolhardy than is typical for you."

"I am hardly the only one acting atypically," Jaime retorted sardonically. "You have been in a temper since I first interrupted your conversation with the girl. Should I apologize for revealing your plans for her too early in your acquaintanceship?"

" _Kyren_ ," Tyrion hissed, the negligible distance he had to look up to meet Jaime's eyes not diluting his glare one ounce. "You could at least manage to call her something other than 'girl'. And I have no designs on her, as I've already stated. My major dispute is not with your words, but your actions."

Jaime frowned. " _My_ actions? You are a hopeless letch and a drunkard and you find _my_ actions offensive?"

"When they entail pushing young children from windows, yes," Tyrion snapped.

The ever-present smirk fell from Jaime's face as he stepped closer to his younger brother. Instinctively, his right hand dropped to the hilt of the sword strapped to his side. Tyrion's eyes followed the movement and narrowed before moving back to meet Jaime's own. "Ah, yes. There is no price too high to ensure you can keep fucking your twin in reasonable privacy," Tyrion snarled. "Go on, do it. Remove my head, stab my heart, nick an artery. I know how meaningless life is to you unless it comes with a pair of green eyes and some nice tits-"

Jaime's hand lashed across Tyrion's face, the awkward angle making the strike far stronger than was intended. The leather of his gloved hands created a muffling effect, but Jaime knew the blow had struck true and struck hard. Rage suddenly quenched, he said mildly, "You should not talk about our sister in such a way."

Tyrion's face showed an unlikely flash of amusement. "If we are going to list the things we should not do with Cersei, I have several entries I believe are worthy of consideration."

Against his better judgement, Jaime smiled as he moved to stand beside his brother, leaning back against the wall. "How long have you known?"

"Years," Tyrion admitted simply.

"And you've never said anything before? I respect your restraint, but it seems odd for you."

He shrugged. "I admit, the idea does not appeal to me, but what the two of you do is your own concern. No one knew, no one was being hurt… Until now. Now there are consequences that stretch far beyond our family and that is unacceptable."

Jaime paused for a long moment before turning away. "I need to finish the task assigned to me by the king."

Tyrion's voice softened slightly. "Jaime…"

"I will consider what you have said, I truly will," he promised. Tyrion nodded and said nothing more as Jaime walked away.

* * *

Arya and Kyren were well on the way to the practice yards, deep in conversation. "But I do not _want_ to go to King's Landing," Arya insisted.

Kyren knew why she had become Arya's confidant of choice. Sansa had been longing for this moment for the majority of her life and was likely to be speaking of nothing else until the journey south actually happened. Lady Stark, naturally, would only encourage Arya to do her duty for the family without complaint. Jon would have been Arya's natural third choice, but Kyren would wager that Arya did not want to seem weak or fearful to the half-brother she idolized. And so the duty fell to Kyren, though she did not find it burdensome. She did her have own hesitancies and perhaps sharing them with the younger girl would help encourage them both.

Gathering her thoughts back to the current conversation, Kyren nodded. "I understand how you feel. It is a frightening thing to leave your home."

"I am not afraid," Arya snapped.

"Really?" Kyren asked. "I am. I will freely admit that I am terrified to be leaving Winterfell."

"You will be joining us? That is wonderful!" Arya's smile dropped. "But why are you afraid? You know how to fight."

Kyren smiled. "Yes, I know how to fight, but I do not fear being attacked by raiders while traveling with the king's caravan." She paused. "Well, I was not before, but I suppose I can add that to the list."

"What are you afraid of, then?" Arya asked, unphased by Kyren's conversational tangent.

Sighing, Kyren reminded herself that Arya was young and prone to asking many questions. She explained, deliberately vague, "That I am not as talented a fighter as I want to believe. That a female warrior will never be accepted, let alone respected. Beyond that, King's Landing itself is a frightening concept. I will be venturing somewhere new; I won't know a soul. There is every likelihood that I will arrive and find that no one wants to spend time with me. I could end up utterly alone."

Suddenly remembering to whom she was speaking, Kyren forced a laugh. "Yes, it is strange to think of leaving, but the fear is a good thing. It helps us become truly aware of how much our lives will be changing. Think about it: in a few months, you will have seen things that the current Arya cannot even imagine!"

Suddenly, Arya's face broke out into a wide smile. "An odd way to say it, but I understand your meaning."

"I'm glad," Kyren sighed, then brightened. "I have a small present for you. Perhaps it will help you remember the Arya you are now."

Kyren ducked into the barn, darted to the practice armory, and retrieved a small bundle from behind the scrap metal bucket. She motioned Arya slightly inside the doorway and handed her the package.

Arya's nose wrinkled. "It stinks in here."

"It does," Kyren agreed, "but I do not wish for anyone else to see your present."

Curiosity sufficiently piqued, Arya obligingly tore the cloth covering from the object in her hands. "My helmet!"

Laughing at the way the young Stark girl immediately placed the metal helmet on her head, Kyren nodded. "Ser Rodrik made me clean the practice armory a few weeks ago and I found it tucked behind a pile of old tack. It took a while and some work with Adarien Graen - the blacksmith's apprentice, do you remember? - but we worked out the dents and polished it up for you."

Arya pouted a bit. "I noticed it was cleaned! I liked it with the dirt and scratches."

"That is the point, Arya: now you will be the one to put dirt and scratches onto it." The girl looked unconvinced and Kyren dredged up a few memories of Ser Rodrik's lessons. "Armor is a very telling thing. If you wore this helmet in every practice session, you would eventually learn where you need more defense, or if you are falling too often on one side. Clean armor consistently worn is a fair tool for learning your strengths and weaknesses."

Arya still looked doubtful, but nodded. "It seems as if that cannot possibly be true, but I suppose there may be sense to it."

"I thank you for your confidence," Kyren said teasingly. "Let me wrap that back up and we can hide it someplace safe."

* * *

Author's Note \- Wow, guys. I'm practically deaf from the response to the last chapter. So many reviews just left me reeling! Kidding, I got a total of zero. In all honesty, I did a little research into GRRM and his anti-fanfiction stance and am feeling a tad insecure about writing this story. If anyone has some kind words or encouragement, they would truly be appreciated!

Before I forget, I did base Dragon's Tears off a plant native to several areas of the world, locally known as Lamb's Ear. It grows everywhere around my home and has many of the properties described in this story, the major one being use as an anti-inflammatory. It's a really neat plant! I am taking a few liberties with it, of course, but that's your fun fact of the day. Lamb's Ear. Cool stuff. You're welcome.

Thanks for reading, expect an update in roughly a week or so, leave some feedback if you've got any, and have a great day!


	6. Chapter Five

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, plots, characters, settings, etc. These rights belong exclusively to George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which make me no money.

* * *

Chapter Five

Kyren stepped into the Godswood, immediately slowing and taking a deep breath. She loved Winterfell and the majority of its inhabitants, but the frantic flurries of motion that had overtaken it were a bit difficult for her to handle. The entire castle had been in a complete panic since King Robert had stated his intentions of leaving for King's Landing three days hence.

Most of those who intended to join the party on their southbound journey had disappeared to pack the belongings they wished to bring along, but Kyren knew she would travel lightly. She had washed her clothing only the day before and had been slowly doling out her unwanted belongings to members of the serving staff who had been kind to her in the past - indeed, Kyren had begun doing so the very day she decided to join the party on their journey to King's Landing.

Maester Luwin, ever kind-hearted and considerate, had offered to escort Kyren the negligible distance north so she could visit her old home a final time before leaving. Kyren had refused tactfully, never mentioning that she had done so many years earlier.

Back then, she had been lonely, homesick, and had just fought with the boys and Ser Rodrik, so Kyren had crept out of Winterfell late that night and ridden north until she found the small cottage. The bodies of her mother and father had been removed - Kyren remembered that much from when Lord Stark had come to their home in the early afternoon the day after the attack. Kyren had been nearly wild with grief, watching from the trees as the strange man and his soldiers buried her parents, tossed the wildlings into a nearby bog, and combed the cottage for her. ' _There should be one more, a girl,'_ Ned Stark had told his men, ordering, ' _Find her.'_

It was Lord Stark himself who had located Kyren eventually. She had climbed near to the top of a towering tree, pressed against the grey-barked trunk in her grey, soot-covered clothing. Lord Stark had lowered himself onto one knee, glancing about the underbrush as if expecting to find the young girl hidden beneath. ' _Kyren, if you can hear my words, my name is Eddard Stark. I promised your father Desmor that I would protect your family. I failed, but I may still be able to protect you. Come with me. I have two sons who are your age and I know they would like to meet you.'_ She had not moved from her hiding place, unsure of whether this man could be trusted.

If possible, Lord Stark's voice had become even more gentle. ' _Kyren, your family is gone. We have given them a proper burial, but that is all we may do for them. You will not survive out here on your own. Come into the open and I give you my word that you will be kept safe. I swear on the lives of myself and my own children, for whom I do the same.'_

His language had been proper, more formal than she had heard previously, and Kyren understood only a portion of what he said, but his tone was kind and she moved slowly away from the trunk of the tree. The branch creaked as she moved and Lord Stark's head had snapped upward. He watched, bemusedly impressed, as she climbed down from her perch.

When she had reached the ground, Kyren stood in front of the man, head bowed, and waited for him to speak once more. ' _Did you hear all that I said?'_ he asked. She had nodded and his hand had dropped to her shoulder. ' _Come. I will take you to your new home.'_

So, yes, Kyren had known the bodies of her parents would no longer be in the small cottage, but in the dark night, she had tricked herself into seeing blood spots on the crumbling walls and dust-covered floors. She had convinced herself that she could hear the last screams of her parents, and had almost believed that more wildlings lurked outside, waiting for a chance to finish their grim mission. Kyren's visit to the cottage had been brief, and for the majority of her return to Winterfell, she had felt utterly lost.

Some part of her - a part that had been kept secret and nurtured for several long years - had believed that she could simply return to the home she had shared with her parents. After she had seen the structure for herself, Kyren was forced to acknowledge the fact that it was a home no longer. Instead, she was left with a new sense of purposelessness. That had been when she decided that she would travel, spend her life defending others who were incapable of defending themselves.

Kyren's mind was torn from her reveries when her unsupervised feet brought her to the center of the Godswood. She stood in front of the ancient Weirwood tree, and she was not alone but remained unsurprised by it. Robb had long seen the carved face with its red tears as a place of solitude, reflection, and prayer and it seemed only natural that she would find him here now.

Indeed, Robb had been the one who first taught Kyren to pray, seeking any method of comforting a traumatized girl. He had barely been older than Kyren - less than a year between them - but after he had been pried from the older Theon, he had proved to be a great source of solace.

The curly-haired Stark was a short distance from the tree, looking quite young sitting cross-legged on the ground with closed eyes and his chin resting in his cupped hand. Robb was either praying or thinking deeply about something and she did not wish to break his concentration, so Kyren made him aware of her presence in their typical fashion: a slow approach before settling on the ground to his right side. It was nearly a tradition for them. With one of the two so deeply ensnared in their own thoughts, the other would guard them, sitting to the right so the sword hand was free for defense against anyone - or anything - who might attack.

They sat so, a companionable silence filling the air until Robb sat up fully, releasing a breath. If a sigh could be said to have a quality, this one seemed resolute. Robb had come to a decision about something, but that was another facet of their understanding: neither would ask for information the other did not volunteer.

"So," he began at length, "tomorrow is the day you finally leave Winterfell. I know this is an event you have long anticipated."

"You are correct," Kyren agreed in an attempt to bolster her own flagging spirits. "However…"

Robb let her gather her thoughts for a moment before prompting, "However..?"

She gave a weak smile. "However, now that the day has nearly arrived, I find myself wishing nothing more than that it would wait a while longer."

A frown crossed Robb's handsome face. "That isn't right. The Kyren I have known the past six years would be anxious to leave, ready to take on any challenge King's Landing could offer."

Kyren shook her head. "I apparently am becoming less brave as time wears on, then."

"Stop that," he ordered. "Think of this as your first adventure. Haven't you always been talking of having a great adventure?"

"I gave Arya much the same council!"

"And was it well received?"

She gave him a droll stare. "You know your sister's temperament better than to make that assumption."

Robb gave a warm chortle. "I do; my apologies. Still, it is sound advice and I commend you for attempting to impart it to Arya. Will you follow it yourself?"

Kyren buried her head against her forearms. "It will not be easy, but I will try," she promised, voice only slightly muffled from her awkward position.

"Good," he replied simply, patting her on the back. "And if your travels ever bring you close to Winterfell…" Robb paused long enough so that Kyren raised her head curiously, then cleared his throat and smiled sadly. "You know you always have a home here."

Tears threatened to escape the tight leash on which Kyren had kept them, so instead of answering sincerely, she rose to her feet and joked, "I am sure you will be busy caring for your child." He cocked a brow at her and she grinned broadly. "Theon shows no signs of wanting to leave or to make his own way in the world. I fear he will be with you as long as you allow."

Robb snorted as he stood to join her, and the melancholy mood dispersed. "With any luck, he will find a woman to wed and depart for a home that affords more privacy."

Kyren arched a brow. "Why would he want that when this place allows him everything he should ever need?"

"Your teasing holds barbs, little orphan," Robb said with an exaggerated wince. "You have become disdainful in your decision to leave us for better things."

"There could be no place better than Winterfell has been," Kyren responded softly, meaning every word as she unintentionally returned the conversation to a more serious nature. "I will miss it and everyone dearly."

"Your presence will be missed as well," Robb assured her, opening his arms. Kyren didn't often allow herself to enjoy human contact - simply due to the fact that she was surrounded by her betters and the familiarity could become a dangerous thing - yet she felt so fragile at the moment that she stepped into Robb's warm embrace. With his arms wrapped around her back, she was ensconced in the comfort of a fur-caped cocoon.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Robb stiffened at the encroaching voice; Kyren could feel the tension singing through every muscle of his body, but she didn't move her head from where it had fallen on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. She knew precisely who was intruding on their peace and she did not want to dignify him with a response.

"Ser Jaime," Robb growled, treading the edge of politeness. "Is there something you need?"

"Yes, I need to speak with Kyren for a moment."

Robb uncurled his arms from Kyren's body, allowing a rush of cool air to waft around her. Though she could feel the Kingsguard's eyes on her, she kept her own gaze on the ground between them as Robb said shortly, "Speak, then."

"I would prefer for us to have a measure of privacy for this particular conversation," Ser Jaime tossed back impatiently.

"It is inappropriate for a man - even a noble one - to be in the company of a young woman without a chaperone, as I am sure you well know."

Ser Jaime lifted an eyebrow, staring pointedly around the clearing. "I fear it may be too late for such concerns, Robb Stark. If it soothes your worries, know that I have no intentions of embracing her when we are alone."

Robb's fair skin betrayed him as a flush stole into his cheeks at the insinuation. He stepped forward, an angry retort fairly leaping to his lips, but Kyren tugged him back with a hand on his shoulder. "Robb, please do not. I will speak with him." Robb was obviously still concerned, but Kyren patted her abdomen with a small smile. "Do not worry; I have my corset."

Obviously still displeased, Robb gave a curt nod and strode from the Godswood. When he was out of view, Ser Jaime stepped to Kyren's side, extending his arm in a courteous gesture. It was difficult to refuse such a deliberate request from one who outranked her so extensively, and Kyren was forced to place her hand on his forearm.

"Do your conversations with Robb Stark often revolve around your smallclothes?" Ser Jaime asked presently. Kyren frowned and tried to pull away from him, but he grasped her hand and tucked it firmly into the crook of his elbow. He kept his right hand on her own, giving her a warning look as he did so.

Receiving the hint, Kyren left her hand where it was, but said stiffly, "Is this truly the subject you wished to discuss, Ser? I fear I have little time for such conversations with our upcoming departure for King's Landing."

"No, no," he said, frowning at the forest before him. Ser Jaime sighed, releasing her hand and taking a half-step away. Kyren felt as if she could take a full breath at his reduced proximity, but wondered at his change of approach. "Kyren, I must apologize once more for the inappropriate comment I made in the conversation between the two of us and Tyrion."

Well, _that_ was unexpected, to say the least. Kyren took a deep breath, remembered that the knight was unused to speaking to people less important than he and likely had not meant any true offense by asking if she was to become a prostitute.

"I forgive you, Ser," she said with an easy smile. "I understand it could be considered a compliment. But… forgive me, but I do struggle to believe you intended to compliment me."

He stared ahead for a long moment before finally responding. "I cannot clearly say how sorry I am. I was temporarily shaken by your knowledge of fu- of _physical_ matters and the subsequent breaking of tradition represented by the understanding. I became defensive and there is no excuse."

Kyren fixed her gaze on the trees directly in front of her. "I cannot pretend to understand the thought process behind what you said, but I bear you no ill will." She let her mouth curve into a small smile as she daringly added, "I do hope it is an experience not soon repeated."

Ser Jaime huffed out a surprised laugh and agreed, "I will endeavor to prevent it from becoming so."

They walked in silence for several long minutes. Despite whatever thoughts the knight next to her may be mulling over, Kyren's focus was strictly on the Godswood and the beauty of the trees surrounding them. There was little noise in the forest, all outside sound having been filtered through the broad trunks and the springy underbrush.

"I must admit that I have wondered about one thing you mentioned," Ser Jaime said suddenly, pulling Kyren from her reverie. "You said - and rightly so - that your intention was not toward prostitution, but another goal. I have found myself terribly curious about what that could be."

Kyren chuckled lowly. "I see you are determined to test your newfound tolerance for broken traditions. Very well, I plan to travel Westeros in defense of those who cannot defend themselves."

"You seek knighthood?"

Biting back a flash of amusement at the frown on Ser Jaime's face, Kyren shook her head. "I seek nothing but protection for the common people against their enemies. If a knighthood should be given at some point, I would not be averse, but it is not my true aspiration."

Rather than dismissing her immediately, the knight looked thoughtful and it meant more to Kyren than was probably prudent. "It is unconventional for a woman of your social standing - and stature - to seek such a life."

"I cannot claim the Stark name, but I have benefited greatly from their training. I cannot change my stature, but I have been told that I am a somewhat talented fighter."

"I have seen you grapple, shoot, and use the sword, but I seem to remember that you had another talent. Daggers, was it?"

"Yes, Ser. I can demonstrate as soon as there is opportunity."

"Now?" he challenged, stopping in an instant.

Kyren lifted a brow at him but obligingly removed a swath of fabric from its place, wrapped around her waist. The material had been hiding a set of five daggers strapped around her torso in a girdle-like garment the boys teasingly called her 'corset'.

"You have been wearing those during our entire conversation?" Ser Jaime asked, seeming an odd combination of concerned, amused, and disbelieving.

Raising and lowering one shoulder in a smooth shrug, Kyren answered, "The men you brought to Winterfell have proven trustworthy to this point, yet I would be a fool to walk alone _and_ unprotected."

"You are not incorrect," he admitted.

Kyren inclined her head in acknowledgement and offered, "Choose the target."

Ser Jaime glanced around the surrounding forest before settling on a small but distinct section of bare tree trunk, the bark having been scraped away from the rotting interior by some creature or a storm. Kyren studied the target. It was far enough to be a challenge - insomuch as anything could be anymore with her current skill level - without being uncomfortably close to the edge of her range.

Kyren's daggers were specially-made, the blades longer than the hilt, but well-balanced enough to be accurate. With the ease of long practice, Kyren embedded four daggers in the trunk of the tree. Ser Jaime reached out a hand before she could launch the last and she paused obligingly.

"You have proven your skill with a stationary target. It is only a shame we are lacking a moving one with which to test you."

Kyren studied everything in the range of sight for something that would fit his criteria, but there was little to be found.

"There!" the knight shouted, flinging something from his hand.

Kyren had only a fraction of a second to study the target: a section of bark ripped from a tree, roughly the size of a dinner plate, was spinning into the underbrush at a rather incredible speed. It was too far to her left for comfort, so Kyren turned in the proper direction - correcting her grip on the dagger's hilt as she did so - and released the blade. Only inches from the ground, the dagger cleanly pierced the bark.

In a few long-legged strides, Ser Jaime had retrieved the target from the pile of brush in which it had landed. He held it up, showing that Kyren's blade had struck true, marking near the center of the bark. "Very impressive, girl."

"Thank you, Ser," Kyren said as she retrieved the other four daggers from the tree trunk. Though the wood was rotted and porous, the blades were still stuck deeply enough to make removal a challenge. When they were all safely holstered once more in her corset, she returned to where Ser Jaime was studying the fifth dagger.

"Impressive, but I am unsure how useful dagger-throwing truly would be in a battle," he said slowly.

"In a battle, I most certainly would not use them," Kyren responded. "Daggers are more of a close-range weapon often used to retain the element of surprise."

"Still, they are fairly short-bladed, would not pierce armor without significant force, exactness in precision is required, and you are limited by the number of blades you carry on your person," he listed off. "There are many detriments."

"You make a fair argument, Ser, but I enjoy working with them and feel they have merit as a weapon in more situations than one would immediately consider. I believe I will continue to practice with them."

"Very well," he said with a nod, "but do so in your private time."

Kyren smiled, not understanding his meaning. "An odd request. When we depart for King's Landing, all time will be my private time as I will no longer be attending lessons or training sessions."

"Not necessarily," he replied. "I have a proposition for you: I will help train you on the journey to King's Landing. If you have progressed enough by our arrival to the capital city, I will find a promising knight to take you on as his squire."

After a brief pause to ensure he was being serious, Kyren's face broke into a grin so wide it hurt her cheeks. "I accept! Thank you, Ser! I would never have expected such an opportunity-"

"It will require quite a bit of very hard work," he warned, emerald eyes serious. "We will train every night we make camp. You will be sore, tired, and ready for rest, yet you will have more work to finish. Once you accept, I will not allow you to change your decision. Are you certain of your choice?"

"The chance to train with a knight? A member of the Kingsguard? And an opportunity to become a squire for a respected knight?" Kyren shook her head, retaining her smile. "I could not bring myself to refuse, Ser."

"Very well," he said gravely. "We begin on the first night we make camp."

"Thank you once more, Ser!" Kyren enthused before she darted off to finish packing her belongings.

* * *

Author's Note \- I'm not happy with this chapter, especially the beginning of it. The 'memory within a memory' thing was messy and a bit too Inception-ey for me, but I couldn't figure out another way to set it up without detouring the plot intensely or cutting crucial character development scenes. If anyone has tips (or just wants to tell me how incomprehensible it turned out), feel free to message me. All of that being said, I'm posting this a few days early because I was overwhelmed - not sarcastic this time - by last week's response! This posting is a thank-you to my two reviewers: ZabuzasGirl and CharNinja LOL. Shout-out to Guikoi for an excellently thought-out message suggestion as well!

Another side note: I've been receiving some unpleasant messages from people who take issue with some parts of this story and I would like to clear up a few of the common problems. I do not believe Jaime and Cersei should end up together, that's why I'm writing a Jaime/OC story and have tagged it as such. Besides their relationship being incestuous, they are simply not a healthy couple. Yes, Kyren is 16... at the START of this story. This fic is going to span several years (don't worry, the pace will pick up) and Kyren will be older when things actually begin to happen. As a point of interest, however, 16 was seen as a fairly mature age in the actual Medieval ages and likely would be in GRRM's pseudo-Medieval story. And, sorry for the spoiler alert, but Kyren is not going to suddenly have the ability to have children. This is a biggie for me, you guys. As someone who can't have kids and has a fascination with history, I've often wondered what would happen to me if I lived back then, if I would have a place and all of that. This is sort of an exploration of that, though Kyren is far more capable than I could hope to be in her place. I know the whole 'getting married/having children' thing is a big deal to people even now, but this is a non-traditional story in that sense. If that is a deal breaker for you, I'm sorry, but I thank you for reading this far.

Many apologies for the gigantic author's note! Thank you all for reading, let me know what you thought. I'll see you sometime soon and have a lovely day!


	7. Chapter Six

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which make me no money.

* * *

Chapter Six

Three days after Kyren's conversation with Ser Jaime in the Godswood, it was finally the day of the king's departure. The royal family was beginning to gather to their caravan as the king and crown prince donned their armor. For Kyren and some of the others departing Winterfell, however, it was an opportunity for a final goodbye.

Theon and Robb were standing solemnly in the castle's main courtyard. Theon nodded casually at Kyren. "Don't get lost or insult a noble, orphan girl."

She snorted. "Don't allow yourself to grow fat and lazy now that half of your competition is leaving." Despite the harsh words, Kyren and Theon grinned at each other in a relationship as near to friendship as they had managed to develop.

Robb pulled Kyren into an embrace. "Stay safe, Kyren. Visit when you can."

She clapped him on the back, swallowing back tears. "I will, Robb, thank you." She pulled away slightly. "Would you think it unwise for me to say goodbye to Lady Catelyn?"

Frowning, Robb lifted his eyes to the room in which his mother watched over the still-sleeping Bran. "Jon has just returned and it is likely she is unhappy at the moment, but you may try. Perhaps you will tear her from her worries for a moment."

Kyren nodded and withdrew, allowing both boys the chance to bid farewell to Jon in privacy. She made her way down the familiar path leading to Bran's chambers. Lady Catelyn glared fiercely as Kyren pushed the door open, but her face softened slightly when she saw it was not Jon returning. Setting aside the urge to speak in Jon's defense, Kyren bowed her head. "I wished to say goodbye, my lady, and to thank you again for everything you have done in my interest."

Lady Stark stood and beckoned the girl closer. When both were standing close enough to whisper, Lady Catelyn reached out to grasp Kyren's shoulders. "Watch over my husband and daughters, Kyren Asheworth. Keep them safe, and any debt owed will be considered repaid."

"I will, my lady," Kyren swore. It may not have been a formal oath, but it certainly felt as if it were. "Even at the cost of my own life, I will see to their safety."

Lady Catelyn's jaw tightened and she gave a firm nod before returning to her place beside Bran's bed. Kyren stood by the door a moment longer before retreating down toward the courtyard once more. As she stepped into the fresh air and sunlight, Maester Luwin called her over. "I have something for you, my dear."

Even as Kyren objected, insisting that the Maester had done more than enough without giving her additional gifts, he was leading her to a paddock nearby. "Kyren, we are both aware that Dancer will not survive a journey to King's Landing."

Kyren frowned. Yes, her sweet-tempered white mare was several years past her prime, but she was dependable and shared quite a bond with Kyren. The girl did not want to admit it, but she was reluctant to leave Winterfell without her familiar mount. "I have been letting Dancer rest as often as possible and I feel she will be strong enough," Kyren argued.

The Maester smiled but shook his head. "She will not survive," he reiterated. "However, she is healthy and will live a good many years yet if allowed to stay at Winterfell. You need a mount who has not seen so many years and, as it happens, I believe I have one for you."

Maester Luwin clicked his tongue twice and Kyren gasped as a horse came into view. "Sotam?" She had been envious of the gigantic, mercurially-natured stallion since the Maester had first purchased him the year before. Sotam's coat was a glorious grey with white dapples flurrying across his sides and down his legs, contrasted sharply by a dragonglass-black mane and tail. He trotted obligingly toward Kyren and Maester Luwin, approaching the girl directly.

Kyren smiled and patted Sotam's nose even as Maester Luwin gave an exasperated huff. "That horse has responded better to you than I since the moment he came into my possession. I would like you to take him to King's Landing. He is young and strong enough to get you there, and dependable enough to do so safely."

"Are you certain, Maester Luwin?" Kyren asked, still stroking Sotam's nose as he nosed around her clothing in search for a treat.

"Extremely so, my dear," the man answered with a warm smile. "I can think of no better life for such a powerful horse than to be a mount for a promising warrior like yourself."

Kyren laughed to keep from crying. "Thank you. I will treasure his company, though it will be a poor substitute for your own." She turned her attention to Sotam. "You seem to be quite weighed down with saddlebags, my friend."

"That would be the other part of your present," Maester Luwin said cheerily. "A proper traveler needs proper tack. The saddle is new, as are the bags, which happen to be filled with a few surprises."

In a flash, Kyren had ducked between the logs of the fence and was running her fingers over the buttery leather of the new tack. It was more extravagant than anything she had ever owned before, and far better than she deserved. The largest bag held a thick sheaf of leather-bound parchment. Kyren removed it from the bag and flicked through, finding page after page of carefully-written notes, all having to do with the healing of various ailments. Still left in the bag was a large vial of liquified Dragon's Tears and a sachet of the plant's dried leaves.

"Dragon's Tears grow all across Westeros, as you well know," Maester Luwin said, "but there is no way of knowing if you might find yourself in a circumstance in which you cannot go harvest it. If that should happen, I wanted you to be prepared."

"Very wise," Kyren commented, adding with a grin, "No less than I expected."

Crossing to Sotam's opposite side, Kyren rummaged through the two smaller sacks, each half the size of the large bag. In one, she found three beautifully-smithed daggers, each with its own leather scabbard. She recognized the workmanship and smiled to herself as she checked the last bag. Inside was a pair of leather and iron vambraces. The forearm armor was lightweight and intricately-wrought, featuring a subtle design of direwolves and icicles - the proposed sigil of House Asheworth, as jestingly suggested by Kyren's friend…

"Yes, those were given to me by a young man who seemed rather heartbroken to hear of your departure," Maester Luwin remarked blandly. Kyren tensed slightly, but his face held no judgment, nor did he remind her that her own lack of romantic future could be nothing but a detriment to another.

"He is a good friend," she replied. "Adarien Graen is the one who has helped me forge my daggers through the years. He was extremely patient during the initial tests. It took rather a long time to decide what weights for hilt and blade were appropriate."

Maester Luwin hummed in agreement. "The blacksmith has no ill to speak of the boy…"

"And he tends to speak ill of everyone," Kyren finished for him.

"That is not- That it, saying such a thing is- You really should-" Kyren laughed, cutting through the Maester's vain attempts to correct his thoughts.

"Fear not, Maester Luwin. Unless he intends to slight me on our way out of Winterfell, I have no cause to be afraid of the blacksmith."

Maester Luwin shook his head. "Still, my dear, you must learn to speak with a bit more tact and diplomacy, or you will not go far on this journey of yours."

"I always speak tactfully, unless it is to someone I am sure I can trust," Kyren returned.

The man's eyes softened. "I will miss you, Kyren. I have no children and would never presume to claim you as such, but I have come to regard you as a cherished niece or granddaughter. I am proud of the determination with which you work toward your aspirations."

For perhaps the third time in their long acquaintance, Kyren embraced the Maester. "Thank you, Maester Luwin. You have been my family since mine was taken from me, and I am made all the richer for the time we have spent together."

Maester Luwin held her tightly for a long moment before releasing her. "Come now, you had better start back for the courtyard unless you wish to spend time with a teary old man."

A corner of Kyren's mouth quirked up and she rubbed her crooked nose. "Do not think you're rid of me so easily. Robb has given me strict orders to return to Winterfell whenever I should find myself in the area."

"Good," he affirmed, settling a hand on her shoulder. "This is not goodbye, Kyren."

With that, he busied himself in opening the gate for her. Kyren led Sotam from the paddock and into the stone courtyard, his iron-shod hooves ringing out splendidly in the enclosed space. It was a difficult noise to hear above the din of a hundred people and two score horses, but Kyren could hear it all the same.

When finally the king rode from Winterfell's walls, Kyren slung her leg over Sotam's back and pulled herself onto the creaking saddle. The carriage carrying the royal family would go before the king - members of the Kingsguard interspersed between the royal family - and those accompanying the caravan would bring up the rear. Lord Stark had, of course, been invited to ride beside the king and Arya and Sansa were to ride with the queen and her children in the carriage for this first day, so Kyren was delighted to find that Jon would stay by her side.

"When will you branch off for the Wall?" she asked, praying it would not be too soon.

"Sometime tomorrow afternoon, in all likelihood," Jon answered. Kyren made a face. It was sooner than she would have preferred, but Jon was quick to remind her of their luck in the matter. "Remember, I should have gone north today, but the caravan got to a late start. We will make camp together this night, if nothing else."

Kyren smiled, grateful for the chance to spend any more time with the man she had grown to consider a sort of brother. "Then we shall have to enjoy this ride and the chance to camp together a final time."

Jon nodded, returning her smile, and they moved out of the walls of Winterfell with a final wave at those they were leaving behind.

* * *

"And that is the best way to build your tent," Jon finished, climbing to his feet stiffly after the lengthy demonstration.

"Thank you, Jon," Kyren replied, careful to put the right amount of gratitude in her voice. In all reality, Lord Stark had taught her to put together a tent when he taught Jon and Robb, and Kyren had used that knowledge several times during outings with Maester Luwin. She nearly ached to correct several methods he used incorrectly, but fought the feeling back. She would not embarrass him on their last evening together.

"How did you manage to avoid your training for today?" Jon asked as they strode further into the center of the now-stationary caravan. "Ser Jaime sounded quite insistent that you would begin on our first night making camp."

Kyren grinned. "We started the journey so late in the day that our journey was affected slightly. The king, his Kingsguard, Lord Stark, and Jory Cassel are meeting to debate our best course of action for the new stops we will make."

Jon shrugged. "I need to resolve a few matters before we split from the group tomorrow, but I will be back in a few hours. We can speak this evening."

"That is fine with me," Kyren agreed. "You don't need help with your 'matters'?"

"No," he said shortly, but smiled to remove the sting from his refusal. "They should be easily handled and I will return. Thank you for the offer."

He was gone before Kyren could say anything further, but she was soon approached by another figure. Kyren smiled politely, glad to see Lord Tyrion Lannister. If there was a single person who could pull her mind from the approaching farewells, it was the short, clever man.

"Lord Tyrion," she greeted respectfully.

He nodded to her, but the motion was directed more at Jon's departing back. "Saying a final goodbye to your lover?" he asked, curiosity without judgment on the rough square of his face.

Kyren made a face. "Jon has been something of a brother to me since I first arrived at Winterfell."

"That does not truly answer my question," Lord Tyrion reminded.

"The answer is most definitely no, my lord," Kyren said flatly, refusing to play the game of debating which part of his query required a response. She paused then. "How was there a question of Jon's role in my life after I said he was like a brother?"

Lord Tyrion shrugged casually, but his eyes remained sharp and searching as he said, "Some do not see that as an impediment."

"They do not see relation as an impediment to…" Kyren trailed off, searching for the proper term.

"Relations," he supplied, lifting his golden brows significantly.

Kyren made a disgusted noise before she could censor herself. "That is revolting. Apologies, my lord."

"Unnecessary," Lord Tyrion waved her off. "As it happens, I agree completely, but there are others who do not seem to share our opinion."

"Is that sort of thing common in King's Landing?" Kyren asked carefully.

He paused for a moment. "More than it should be, but not at all common."

"Good," Kyren asserted. Her parchment-hued eyes searched the camp around them, stopping as they found Ser Jaime. Not only was the knight watching her as well, but he beckoned her to him imperiously. "If you will excuse me, Lord Tyrion?"

She didn't glance back as she strode away and so missed the amused gaze Lord Tyrion cast between Kyren and his brother.

"Ser Jaime," Kyren said with a nod. "I trust the planning went well?"

He gave her a droll stare, emerald eyes sarcastic. "Well in the sense that we _may_ not be raided, attacked, ambushed, or murdered on our southward journey, yes. I cannot give any more details than that, as you lack the knowledge of planning and strategy required to grasp our itinerary."

Kyren blinked at the unprovoked, scarcely-veiled attack on her intelligence. "Did you summon me here to tell me that my understanding of strategy is lacking?"

"Of course not," he snapped, then looked away as he drew a hand over the coarse scruff of his sharp jaw. "I wished to discuss with you the particulars of our training."

Deciding that the best course of action would be to remain silent, Kyren simply continued to watch him fidget, wondering absently if the uncontrolled motions were a sign that he felt guilt for snapping at her so causelessly. "Have you suddenly been struck dumb?" His voice cracked over her like a whip and Kyren fought the urge to jump.

"No, Ser. I was waiting for you to explain your plans for our training," she said calmly.

He was gritting his teeth; she could tell from the clenching of his jaw. "We likely will not practice archery in our sessions. I feel I can help you improve in your swordplay and grappling, but bows and daggers will have to be practiced outside our training."

"I understand the swordwork," Kyren said carefully, "but is the grappling truly necessary?"

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Your grappling is appalling. You need every bit of help I can offer or you'll find yourself raped and killed on a deserted road somewhere in Westeros - or, if you are extremely lucky, killed _then_ raped."

Kyren studied him for a moment. The Kingsguard was needling her, trying to force a reaction of some kind, but she would not be baited. "That seems accurate. So we will focus on swords and grappling beginning the next time we make camp. Do I have a proper understanding?"

"Yes, and I expect you to be fully prepared," Ser Jaime said. His eyes flicked behind her and narrowed. "Go spend time with Jon Snow. You will not have much longer to be in his company."

Kyren turned in surprise and found Jon waiting near a bank of tents, watching her and Ser Jaime with narrowed grey eyes. "Ser," she said by way of excusing herself and scurried over to the soon-departing man who had grown to be a type of family.

* * *

Kyren stepped wincingly into the chill water of the stream. The caravan always made the best effort to camp near running water for cooking, bathing, and washing. There was even a section of the stream specially partitioned off for the women to bathe without fearing the gaze of men. Admittedly, Kyren had distrusted the system and had checked the perimeter before she removed a single article of clothing, and for good reason: she had found two men attempting to peer into the blocked space. It had taken some rather creative threats and the brandishment of her daggers before they had sworn to return to the camp.

After a brief period of adjustment, Kyren could admit that the frigid water felt wonderful against her skin, soothing sore muscles and cleaning out scrapes both fresh and partially-healed. She had been through several training sessions with Ser Jaime in their time on the road south and Kyren could still remember the awe she had felt while watching his swordwork for the first time.

Ser Rodrik had repeatedly lectured the pack of strays to hold their swords as if they were extensions of the arm. Kyren had heard the advice over years of training, but it wasn't until she watched Ser Jaime moving and striking that she truly understood what the older knight had meant. The Kingsguard was in possession of perfect timing, he never revealed a hint of his next move, and his attacks fell in such a wild flurry that Kyren had no hope of defending against them.

She had been soundly beaten during their most recent session just as she had their first and Kyren would have been extremely downhearted, but grappling - oddly enough - was her potential edge over the knight. His swordwork may have been impeccable, but Ser Jaime's grappling was average at best. Kyren's was worse by far, but still, she was trying to plan a method that would allow her to use her limited range of skills against the kingsguard.

The swath of fabric marking the entrance of the bathing area twitched and Kyren tensed, ready for the reappearance of the men who had been so eager to behold the full female form, but instead was greeted by the sight of Queen Cersei entering the outdoor, cloth-walled 'room'.

For a reason Kyren could give no explanation, she was somehow less comfortable with the queen's presence than with that of two letches. "My queen," she said awkwardly, bobbing her head as she attempted to shield her nakedness.

Queen Cersei's eyes traveled over Kyren despite the obstruction from her strategically-placed hands and the surface of the water, and a smirk touched her perfect mouth. "I promise you, girl, you are in possession of nothing I have not seen before."

The derisive tone set Kyren's teeth on edge, but there was nothing to do but continue bathing as quickly as possible. "You have been training with my brother quite often," the queen said in a casual tone that rang false to Kyren's ears.

"Yes, your grace," she said simply. If the woman wanted to learn something in particular, Kyren would be sure she worked at it.

"Surely you have come to some conclusions?"

Kyren directed her frown at the water rather than the monarch. "I have concluded that Ser Jaime is rightfully known to be one of the greatest swordsmen in Westeros, your grace. I hope to learn much from him during the remainder of our journey to King's Landing."

Even without staring directly at the woman, Kyren could see the queen's golden head tilt as she regarded Kyren mockingly. "Is that all you want from him? To learn? I see…"

Kyren remained silent, ducking beneath the waist-depth water in order to scrub at her hair rather than wait to discover the queen's true meaning. She had heard rumors about herself and Ser Jaime, of course. They grappled on a nearly-nightly basis, and there were only so many times a woman could be seen with a man between her legs - no matter how many layers of clothing were there as well - before stories began to spread. Still, she didn't wish to hear Queen Cersei's barbed insults about their training as well. _She surely thinks my social standing too poor for a dalliance with the queen's brother,_ she thought bitterly.

When she finally emerged back into the crisp air above the surface of the stream, Kyren forced a smile at the golden-haired woman. "I beg your pardon, my queen. That was my last bit of washing."

Queen Cersei gestured regally at the bank beside her, where a cloth for drying lay beside the pile of clean clothing Kyren had brought along to the stream. With a faint grimace, Kyren climbed out of the water, delicately dipping her feet back in to remove the mud from the bank before she stepped onto the springy grass. Lifting the sun-warmed drying cloth, Kyren turned her back on the queen while she wiped away the water droplets clinging to her clean skin.

"My brother is quite handsome, would you not agree?" the queen asked, a conspiratorial hush to her refined voice.

Kyren gritted her teeth for only a moment before responding diplomatically, "I have never heard of any member of the Lannister family possessing less than a perfect appearance."

"Indeed? You have met one unattractive Lannister, so that is a falsehood, but a tactful one." Kyren still had yet to turn around, but from the bitter tone in Queen Cersei's answer, she was displeased by Kyren's avoidance of the indirect interrogation. Kyren bent to smooth the drying cloth over her legs and rose once more only to freeze at the feeling of fingertips on her back. "What a terrible bruise. Whatever is it from?"

Kyren exhaled lightly. "Training sessions with Ser Jaime can grow somewhat intense. I have quite a collection of scrapes and bruises." She prayed silently to the Seven that the queen wouldn't ask to see any more. Some injuries were in rather… _delicate_ locations.

The fingertips on Kyren's back flattened as the queen's narrow palm smoothed down the back of her ribcage, skimmed off the edge of her hip. "Such muscle. Unusual for a female."

Kyren's frantic brain kicked out the memory of an earlier conversation with Lord Tyrion and Ser Jaime: ... _There is a sort of honor in being the companion to a high-ranking official. I tell you this only because, if you intend to spend any length of time in King's Landing, there is always the chance that you may catch the attention of some such person. Taking offense - though completely understandable - may be seen as a rather grave insult…_

Hoping earnestly that neither man had been speaking of his sister, Kyren gave an uncomfortable laugh. "It is muscle hard-earned, your grace."

Giving an insincere laugh, Queen Cersei pulled away. "Still, I will endeavor to ask my brother to be more careful in the future. Perhaps I could use a few connections in King's Landing in order to secure you an advantageous marriage, a more difficult prospect when the woman is covered in welts."

Kyren finished pulling her tunic over her head in time to watch Queen Cersei withdraw from the bathing area. It was just as well; thinking of a way to refuse a marriage arranged by the queen was somewhat beyond Kyren's knowledge of etiquette.

* * *

It was a source of rather great amusement for Jaime to watch the men scramble from the stream, cupping their cocks and diving for clothing, as Cersei came striding up to him directly. They needn't have bothered as her blazing eyes were trained on him and him alone, but it was a safe enough practice. She would likely have ordered them from the area regardless.

With a rare presence of mind in the midst of her anger, Cersei waited for their semi-seclusion in the men's bathing area before she hissed, "I told you to woo the girl, not beat her!"

"The girl?" Jaime repeated slowly. Of all the things he believed Cersei could have been angry over, the orphan had been far down the list.

"Yes, the girl, Ned Stark's orphan and heir to his guilt charity," she snapped. Jaime's mouth twitched at the insult, but Cersei was apparently refusing to join in on his amusement. "She is covered in bruises from head to toe and twitches like a beaten dog at the slightest touch!"

"Did she complain to you about our sessions?" Jaime asked, somewhat dazedly. He had thought it peculiar that Kyren was putting forth so much effort with such little grumbling. It would be understandable if she had chosen to gripe to an outside source, but choosing Jaime's twin sister for said source was short-sighted, something Kyren had shown herself to rarely be. Nevertheless, he would be putting a stop to that at first opportunity.

"No, I was speaking to her while she bathed," Cersei answered and Jaime's gaze flew immediately to the cloth-concealed section of stream partially hidden behind a curve of the water's path. There was nothing to be seen, of course, but the simple knowledge that the girl was so exposed and vulnerable so close to his current location… it was a distraction, as evidenced when Jaime realized he had missed a large section of Cersei's further complaints.

It was no matter, as Jaime had realized something else his sister had mentioned. "Who touched her to make her… ah, 'twitch like a beaten dog'?"

"I did," Cersei retorted, displeasure at the interruption crossing her perfect features.

"Why?" he asked, careful to stir a bit of disgust into the question.

To his immense amusement, Cersei looked almost embarrassed, perching delicately on a nearby stump as she explained, "It was an attempt to gain her trust. Physical touches usually work for me in that regard."

"On _men_ ," Jaime asserted with a sharp crack of laughter. "It works on _men_ because they believe you are attempting to seduce them. You are beautiful, and they do whatever you wish because they believe they have a chance at bedding you. The poor girl was probably terrified you wanted something obscene from her."

Cersei's cheeks reddened and Jaime drank in the sight. His twin had not been naive enough to blush in nigh on ten years. She was a different woman now, and it took only moment for her to counter with, "I would not be forced to gain her trust if you had seduced her as I ordered you!"

"You are issuing orders now, sister?" Jaime asked with an arched brow. "I was unaware. Of course, I also believed you _asked_ me to make her fall for me before our arrival at King's Landing, still weeks away."

"I highly doubt time will allow you to gain her affections. No woman, low-born or no, feels love for a man who regularly causes her physical injury!"

"In that you are mistaken, my queen," Jaime responded with a chuckle. His twin's eyes retained a chip of skepticism and he stepped closer to the bank. "Cersei, the orphan isn't like most women. She understands that in helping her become a better fighter, I _am_ caring for her. Kyren is more of a warrior than she is a woman in that regard."

"'Kyren' now, is she?" Cersei asked with a frown.

"That is her name, is it not? Unless that is yet another mistake I've made?" he asked sarcastically.

Cersei stood, the clear water of the stream giving an unimpeded view of her brother in his altogether. "I expect you will have made significant progress by our arrival at the Crossroads Inn. You will be given your own room. Perhaps you can convince her to share it."

"You expect me to have completely seduced the girl in little more than a fortnight?"

"That time represents the vast majority of our remaining journey to King's Landing. If you've made no advances toward her affections by then, it may be of little use to win them at all."

Jaime did his best to ignore the odd twisting in his midsection at the thought of leaving Kyren to her own devices for… well, for the rest of both of their lives. "Are you doubting my abilities, sister?"

"Never your abilities," she denied instantly, firmly. "You motivation, however, is another matter entirely."

Having completely and incontrovertibly made her point, Cersei returned to the camp, leaving Jaime to his thoughts and plans.

* * *

Author's Note \- Wow, the Lannisters are in some kind of mood this week, huh? Such divas. I would have thought the goodbyes would be the most dramatic part of the chapter, but it sure didn't work out that way! I hope you've enjoyed this; it's been our longest chapter to date. I'll admit, I probably had a little too much fun writing it! Special thanks to my guest reviewer on last week's chapter. Your kind words definitely made me smile!

Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought, and have a wonderful day!


	8. Chapter Seven

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are exclusively owned by George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which make me no money.

* * *

Chapter Seven

Immediately after the caravan had come to a stop, Kyren scrambled down from Sotam's back and began pitching her tent. As part of the Stark company, Lord Stark had offered her a meal at the Crossroads Inn, one in which no parts were made up of stew, wild game, or hard bread. She had only to unload Sotam, build her dwelling for the evening, and finish her training session with Ser Jaime, then Kyren would be free to enjoy a meal prepared by someone (hopefully) more spice-savvy and creative than the caravan's resident cook.

With the ease of practice, Kyren rapidly constructed her tent, stowed most of the belongings Sotam had been carrying inside of it, and used the covering to change clothes. Peeling off the form-fitting riding clothes was a pleasure only slightly lessened by the knowledge she would be forced to don them once more the next morning. At the moment, Kyren luxuriated in the process of putting on the loose tunic and cloth pants she wore to train with Ser Jaime.

She emerged from the tent feeling somewhat clean, having washed her training outfit in a river near which they had camped the evening before. It was a bit damp under the armpits and around the laces of the breeches, but removing the stench had been more than worth the discomfort she was experiencing now.

And so, in a rather carefree temper, Kyren approached Sotam, still grazing in the area she had placed his tether. She had attempted placing him with the company's packhorses on their first few evenings, but it had become rather apparent that Sotam was less than fond of other horses. After complaints of kicking and biting, Kyren had opted to keep him tethered outside her tent. If nothing else, she reasoned that he made for an odd-looking yet intimidating watchdog.

"Such a pretty boy," she cooed, stroking the white blaze on his face before tugging gently at his black forelock. Sotam snorted softly, pulling away to nibble playfully on the end of her braid. "A mischievous boy, rather! You can't eat that, silly Sotam. It's the wrong color."

Kyren extricated her newly-dampened braid from the horse's lips and chuckled. Sotam blew through his nose at her and she blew back. She had seen horses 'speak' to each other this way before and was honored that the stallion saw her as a member of his herd.

"What in the name of the Seven are you doing?"

Kyren turned, a silly smile still on her face while she greeted, "Ser Jaime. I was just speaking to Sotam. I expect you've successfully constructed your tent?"

Ser Jaime rolled his emerald eyes - far warmer now than the chips of gemstone they had seemed during that first training session - and said, "If I only had to construct a tent, I would have met with you ten minutes ago. No, I was arguing with the insipid innkeeper. The man actually attempted to insist that all the Kingsguard could make do with a single room."

She frowned at that. One man was required to be posted outside the king's room at all times and another two would patrol the hallways, leaving only four men to sleep on any particular shift. Four men in a room would be somewhat crowded, but it was far from impossible. "Could you not?"

He grinned rather dashingly at her, though she did her best not to notice. "We could, of course, but there are advantages to bearing the name of Lannister."

"I thought Kingsguard was meant to be the most important designation in your life?" Kyren asked, not meanly.

Ser Jaime stared, mouth twisted into a pitying grimace. "Of course it is _meant_ to be, but I feel I can more effectively guard the king's life after having spent the night on a lumpy mattress all my own rather than one for which I have to fight. Besides, Barrin snores ferociously."

Kyren did her best to push away the part of her that judged the man for his somewhat lacking ethics, but he chucked her under the chin. "Do not frown so, little one. None shall suffer terribly for my acquisition of a private room."

She slapped his hand away - relieved when he flashed her a good-natured smile rather than becoming offended - and grumped at him, "I despise when you call me little."

"Good. Let us find an appropriate field and you may defend your honor."

Obediently, Kyren followed Ser Jaime as he wandered off in a random direction. He had taken to doing this since their fourth session. It had rained the night before that particular evening and they had a singularly intense grappling session, leaving her tunic coated in mud and clinging to her torso. Several of the soldiers, already well on the way to being drunk, had called greetings and invitations of the un-valiant sort on their return to camp. The knight had advised her to take no notice of their words but seemed unable to follow the advice himself, the muscle in his jaw tightening until she had feared for his teeth. Ever since, he had searched for a more secluded area in which they could practice.

Lost in her own thoughts, Kyren missed the first time Ser Jaime tried to speak to her and was forced to ask him to repeat himself. "I merely said you may not have needed to pitch a tent."

Kyren eyed him for a moment as she attempted to puzzle out his meaning, but broke into an eventual smile. "Are you implying that I may not survive this training session?"

"That was not my intention-" he began, but broke off abruptly as they cleared the copse of trees through which they had been tramping. "This seems to be a fair enough place. Do you have any objections?"

"None whatsoever," Kyren responded, already in defense mode. It would not be unheard of for Ser Jaime to drop the swords and attack immediately. He typically favored swords first so that they were not exhausted and covered in debris at the point of weapons training, but he was willing enough to switch the order in the name of throwing Kyren's expectations.

This time, however, he seemed to be determined to work with swords before moving on to grappling. Without another word, the knight handed Kyren her preferred blade and moved into position.

* * *

Her sword-work was improving at a rather remarkable rate. That was no bother to Jaime, of course. Ordinarily, he would consider it a source of pride, proof of a job well-done, but he wasn't certain if he could take full credit and that was vexing beyond belief. How was he to truly know whether it was his tutelage that was causing her to progress so rapidly, or simply being away from the repressive Ser Rodrik?

An extraordinarily well-timed parry aimed at his side forced Jaime to stutter-step to the side and he brought his mind back to the task at hand. The girl's strength had grown from pitiful to minor, but her true advantage was her sense of timing. With careful training and dedication on her part, it could eventually rival his own.

With a forceful block, Jaime forced the red-head back a few steps, but she recovered well, surging forward even as her witch's eyes searched his form for weaknesses or unguarded points. She would find none, but he would favor her technique over that of several soldiers he had fought in the past. When she stepped to him, he blocked her swing with an easy swipe and circled his blade back up to her throat before she could launch a counter-strike.

"Yield," he ordered lazily.

The girl sighed, dropping her sword down until the blade's tip rested in the thick grass. "I yield," she muttered.

Jaime pulled the blade away and caught up both scabbards from where he had left them on a nearby outcropping of rock. He tossed the appropriate one to the girl, who caught it easily, and sheathed his own sword. "You are improving," he told her casually.

"Thank you, but it must be so slight that I cannot see it," she said, tone rueful.

He shook his head. She would not be content until she had beaten him. Jaime could not blame her; complete victory was the only way he had measured his own success, but it had been a very long time since he had been bested in a swordfight. She would have to find another way to be satisfied with the progress she had made.

Their grappling match was short and intense, as they always were. In many ways, grappling was more physically tiring than swordfighting, but the girl had a bad tendency to throw everything she had into the first few minutes, leaving her too exhausted to properly counter as the match continued. In a short time, Jaime had the girl pinned to the ground, stomach pressed into the dirt as he held her hands against the small of her back.

"Yield," he huffed out.

She turned her head to the side, eying him over her shoulder. After a single moment in which he wondered what she could possibly be planning, Jaime's shoulder exploded into starbursts of pain and he fell forward. The girl lowered her foot back to the ground and used the purchase to launch herself at him. Slightly off-balance and disoriented, Jaime seized her arms and shoved with his full strength rather than the mitigated force he tried to use in these sessions.

Seeming to move slower than any human was capable of doing, she reeled backward. Jaime hooked a foot around her ankle, ready to take the offensive position once more so he could put an end to the match and nurse his shoulder. However, the girl fell flat onto the ground as a horrible _crack!_ echoed through their clearing. With a terrible sense of foreboding, Jaime leapt to his feet and rushed to her.

Her strange eyes were half-open, heavy-lidded and unfocused. Jaime lifted her head slightly and a cold rush of fear surged through his middle as his fingers encountered a shallowly-buried bank of rock. It was covered by a thin layer of dirt and grass, but Kyren's skull had most certainly collided with it. Dimly, Jaime realized that she had yet to blink since he had knelt beside her, but her chest continued to rise and fall with her somewhat quickened breaths.

"Kyren?" he asked gently, the use of her name leaving an odd tingling in his mouth. He received no response, and tried repeating it with a bit more urgency. "Kyren?!"

She groaned softly, eyes fluttering for the first time since she had fallen. _Been pushed,_ Jaime's mind corrected. "Kyren, can you speak? Can you move?"

Her response was soft, so soft that he leaned down to place his ear beside her lips. "H-hurts," she said shakily, voice breathy and broken.

Jaime pulled back to look down at her, ready to repeat his question about movement, but her lids had fluttered down and her face slackened. "Kyren! Open your eyes."

Her brow furrowed, looking for all the world as if she was fighting to obey but was encountering resistance. At last, her eyes opened but remained unfocused and distant. Even then, only moments passed before they closed once more.

With this second loss of consciousness, Jaime had already decided on a course of action. Gently as possible, he scooped Kyren up and strode briskly for the inn. Kyren groaned just once more before falling eerily silent. He cursed the distance they had traveled to find the right place to train, but with his pace, Jaime soon reached the edges of the camp.

Several soldiers ran to him and he could not bring himself to wait even as long as it would take for them to ask their questions. "Find a maester, bring him to the dining hall."

"A maester may be difficult to find out here," a soldier warned, adding a fearfully respectful, "...Ser."

"Find a healer, then. A medicine woman. I don't much care who you find, but find someone who can help her and bring them to the dining hall," Jaime barked, speaking over his shoulder as he continued moving toward the aforementioned structure.

With a powerful kick, the door to the dining hall was opened and he stomped inside. His eyes adjusted rapidly to the dim interior of the room, allowing him to watch as the crowd inside fell silent. Those directly in front of Jaime stepped aside and he waited as the innkeeper's steady-handed wife cleared a table on which he could rest Kyren's limp body. King Robert and Ned Stark were thankfully missing, so he was not forced to answer unnecessary questions for the moment.

A man roughly Jaime's own age pushed him aside, moving to examine Kyren with practiced hands. "I am the healer for this town," he said shortly by way of explanation. It was a good thing, too; Jaime had been ready to rip the man's long brown hair from its neatly-tied queue and force him away from the girl.

"What has happened to Kyren?" a cultured voice asked.

Jaime turned to find Sansa Stark approaching, worried gaze fixed on the girl on the table. Joffrey followed behind her, obviously displeased at being left by the girl he was so desperately attempting to court, but his grimace turned to a smirk when he saw Jaime.

"My uncle's prowess seems to have been too much for the girl," he mocked coarsely.

"Leave us," Jaime ordered, voice terse. A look of rage crossed Joffrey's face, but Kyren had made a soft, pain-filled noise, and Jaime's attention was removed from the pouting crown prince.

Dimly, he registered Cersei's interference. "My son, we do not know what measures the healer may be required to take in order to help Kyren. This is no place for Lady Sansa. Perhaps a walk would be a more pleasant alternative? If memory serves, there is a lovely river running along the eastern side of the inn."

"If you think I will allow myself to be spoken to in this way-" Joffrey stormed, but was blessedly interrupted.

"I think a walk sounds wonderful," Sansa said softly. "Would you please accompany me, your grace? I would very much enjoy the opportunity to know you better."

After a tension-filled pause, Joffrey mumbled a reluctant affirmative and allowed himself to be led out of the dining hall. With a silent thank-you to Sansa Stark for being as manipulative as Cersei, Jaime turned his full attention back to the healer.

The man had gently lifted Kyren's head - the girl had apparently fallen into unconsciousness once more - and was attempting to examine the back of her skull. "It is a pity she possesses hair of this shade," he remarked absently. "Much more difficult to tell if her scalp is bleeding."

Jaime started forward, reaching to help the healer, but the man stopped him with sharp brown eyes. "I require a full accounting of the incident if I am to properly help this girl."

He bristled at the healer's tone, but for the sake of Kyren's health, he swallowed back a lashing retort and told the man what had happened. "An accident," he finished lamely. "A terrible accident, to be sure."

The healer smirked a bit, gaze still fixed on Kyren's head as he brushed fingers through her dark red hair. "If you will forgive me, Ser, that much was apparent even before your explanation." Jaime stared at the man, eyes hard. The healer glanced up only briefly before giving a small shrug. "I very much doubt you would have attempted to kill a girl only to bring her for medical attention."

Before Jaime could give the retort deserved by the man's less-than-serious comment, he stepped back. "After concluding my examination, I believe the girl will recover. She has no lacerations on her scalp, no signs of bleeding, though the swelling had already begun. She will need rest and to travel easily for the next few days, but there should be no issues beyond then. For the night, she must be allowed to sleep, but must also be watched over carefully."

"Thank you," Cersei interjected with a benevolent smile, leaving Jaime to process the news. If Kyren was unable to travel according to the demands of the caravan, would she return to Winterfell?

The healer caught Jaime's attention once more. "To minimize the dangers of internal swelling, I would advise she be given a draught of Dragon's Tears. I do not have liquid Tears at the ready, however. If you believe she will be remaining in the area until she is fully recovered, I can begin the process."

A woman rushed up, one Jaime vaguely recognized from his time at Winterfell. She was usually to be found in the company of the Stark girls, but it appeared her concerns were for Kyren at this moment. "The Maester of Winterfell, Maester Luwin, sent along some liquid Dragon's Tears. I will gladly fetch the medicine if you will advise me on the correct amount?"

"And you are?" the healer asked, seeming nonplussed.

"Septa Mordane," the woman answered with a slight curtsey. "I teach and chaperone the Stark girls, but I have helped care for the people of Winterfell for many years."

"Very well," the healer replied. "Fetch the Dragon's Tears. She will not need a large amount; we are attempting to prevent swelling, not treating an existing issue."

The two left off their discussion then as the Septa scurried away. The healer moved to speak to Cersei, no doubt a slapdash attempt at winning her favor, leaving Jaime to stare down at the girl weaving in and out of consciousness on a table in a roadside inn.

Her skin, tanned from the journey and extensive time spent outdoors, still managed to be pale. Freckles and bruises stood out from that skin, both signs of a woman who cared far more about the utility and skills of her body than the way it appeared to those who would study it. Her hands, spread away from her body from when Jaime had laid her on the table, were small and covered in rough calluses. They were strong hands, warrior's hands. Her hair had begun working loose from the braid into which she had bound it, aided by the healer's examination, and it surrounded her head in a wispy, dark red halo.

If Jaime hadn't already been studying the girl's hair, thus standing so closely to her face, he would have missed the small movement she made. As it was, his gaze snapped to the way her mouth stretched into a frown and her eyebrows pulled down in pained displeasure. Her eyes were still closed, but he could see movement beneath the lids.

"Kyren?" he asked softly.

With a slightly-increased frown, her eyes opened and she squinted up at him. "Ser Jaime? What..?"

She trailed off into a confused silence and Jaime took over the explanation. "You… fell. In our grappling session. Your head hit a rock buried under the ground and you've had trouble staying awake ever since. There is a healer here, and he says you will recover quite easily."

She glanced around, eyes narrowed against even the dim light of the dining hall, and tried to sit up before he could prevent the motion. Her oddly-pale eyes flew wide as she clasped a hand over her mouth and Jaime took an instinctive step back. The healer, damn him, was there almost immediately and appeared to be fully armed with a bucket.

"Nothing to be concerned about," the man tossed casually over his shoulder as Kyren retched horribly into the container. "Nausea occurs quite commonly with head injuries such as this one. It will pass as she begins to heal, perhaps as soon as she ingests the Dragon's Tears."

Jaime took shallow breaths and kept his gaze averted from the still-vomiting girl. He could send a man to the next world without so much as blinking, but vomit? Vomit was his personal bane. The sight, the smell, the stomach-clenching noises emitted… His mouth watered violently as he stared at Cersei in a bid for a distraction of any nature. She smiled pityingly at him. Certainly she knew how he was affected and seemed somewhat surprised that he had not devised an excuse to flee the room by this time. Even when Cersei was suffering the nausea that accompanied the beginnings of each pregnancy, he had been unable to be so close as he was to the girl now.

He had not prayed to the Seven in many years and had no immediate plans to resume the practice, but Jaime came close to thanking every god he could remember when the Septa returned with a medium-sized bottle made of brown glass.

"Here it is," she clucked, stroking a soothing hand down Kyren's arm. "Doubtless Maester Luwin did not expect us to need this so soon, but he will be quite pleased to hear it was put to good use."

The healer measured out and administered a draught, ordering Kyren to lay back down until the medicine had time to digest. In a stern voice that nevertheless managed to be kind, he ordered, "Do not move for at least ten minutes, preferably longer. Sleep if you can; you will need as much rest as possible until your head has healed."

Kyren obligingly closed her eyes and Jaime felt a slight pang at their absence. The next moment, he berated himself for the useless feeling, but attributed it to the intense relief he had felt when her eyes had finally opened after the fall.

Time dragged onward until the healer finally gave his permission for Kyren to be moved, and Jaime seized the opportunity to summon two of his steadiest soldiers. "Bring the girl to my room. Rest her on the bed, and if you value your lives, do so cautiously."

They had only just lifted the girl's limp body from the table when Septa Mordane bustled over, squalking her protests. "Ser Jaime, you mustn't! It is not appropriate for a young woman to be taken to the chambers of a man who is not her husband!"

"You heard the healer as well as I did," he snapped impatiently. "She must rest tonight and I am certain she will do so far easier on a bed than her tent outside. And she must be watched over as well. What better place could you possibly suggest?"

"Lord Stark has been allotted a room-" the woman started, but Jaime cut her off.

"Lord Stark has been allotted a single room with two beds for himself and his two daughters - as well as yourself, I would guess. Which do you expect will surrender their comfortable night's sleep in exchange for a place on the floor? And when Kyren is awoken throughout the night in order to be assessed, I highly doubt any of the Starks will appreciate the interruption to their rest."

The woman's mouth opened and closed repetitiously and Jaime tried another tactic. Adopting a more sympathetic tone, he continued, "Septa Mordane, I am responsible for young Kyren's current condition. I wish to make amends by caring for her until she is well once more. What concerns you so that you would deny me the opportunity?"

The Septa met his eyes once and glanced away, a faintly embarrassed expression crossing her face. "I would never dream to accuse you of such a thing, but if Kyren is taken to your room and remains there unaccompanied for an entire night, her reputation will suffer."

With a significant struggle, Jaime fought back a smirk. Gravely, he said, "I am sure you have been treated to the many assumptions of acts performed by Kyren and myself during our training sessions. With all due delicacy, her reputation among members of this company cannot possibly be tarnished further than its current state. I can give Kyren the seclusion and stillness she needs in order to recover fully. Is her health not more important than a reputation, especially considering that she herself has affirmed that she has no desire to marry in the future?"

Septa Mordane sighed, and Jaime recognized it as the sign of defeat that it was. "Very well, Ser Jaime. Consider your case well-made, but I fear you will still need to explain your actions to Lord Stark when he returns with the king."

Jaime gave a flourishing bow. "I will most happily do so. Simply send him to my chamber for a full explanation." Having said his piece, he left the room filled with watchful eyes and returned to the quiet of his private chamber.

Less time had passed than he had expected when a sharp knock on the door had Jaime lurching to his feet. Kyren had stirred only once in the time since she had been deposited in his room and he was determined she continue to rest until her body could no longer do so.

After he opened the door as softly as possible - having earlier noted its propensity to squeak - Jaime found Ned Stark accompanied by King Robert and Cersei. All wore grave expressions, though Stark seemed more foreboding than the other two and his posture spoke of a potential for violence.

"I am told you ordered Kyren be brought to your chamber," Ned Stark began without preamble.

"I did, Lord Stark," Jaime replied, teeth clenching at paying the man even this small sign of respect. "She was injured while training with me and I felt responsible for her recovery."

"I agree," the man replied simply.

Jaime had to blink at the steady response. "You… agree?"

Stark gave an odd half-smile. "Septa Mordane seems flighty, fearful… she is easily dismissed, but she is in possession of a sharp mind. She relayed to me the finer points of your reasoning and it is sound enough to suit me. Kyren will remain in your care for this night at least. We shall see about tomorrow when it arrives."

"Very gracious of you, my lord," Jaime said automatically, still rather stunned at the turn of events.

"Gracious?" Stark grimaced at the term. "I do not believe myself gracious in the least, but I very much believe in debts and paying those you accrue. Kyren is your current debt. If she should require anything in particular, send for me."

Jaime nodded deeply and Ned Stark nodded in return, sharing a rare moment of understanding. The new Hand strode back the way he had come, apparently returning to the main dining hall with King Robert following just behind. Cersei, however, remained behind with Jaime.

She smiled prettily up at him. "It is lucky that the girl will recover, is it not?"

"Most certainly so," Jaime agreed with an air of fervency that confused even himself. Perhaps it was not intensity at all, but surprise for Cersei displaying a sense of caring for someone beyond the Lannister family - indeed, beyond herself and Jaime.

"Too many members of the Stark family injured from falling in too short a time would doubtless raise suspicions," Cersei concluded with a cruel grin.

The mystery of his twin's abrupt sense of empathy solved, Jaime pretended to hear a sound from inside of the room. "I beg your pardon, sister; it appears that my nursemaiding skills are required at the moment."

"Will you be joining us to take the evening meal?"

He slowly shook his head. "I feel it would be better for me to be seen caring for Stark's ward tonight. Send food up, would you? I would hate to waste away in here, forgotten by all."

"How could anyone forget you, brother?" Cersei asked softly, stroking his cheek before she left.

* * *

Author's Note\- So, this is the first installment of this particular arc. Since the next chapter is very short by my standards, expect an update some time in the next few days. Shout-out to my two reviewers on the last chapter: TheUnknownBookLady and PtLacky. You guys are so awesome!

Also, side note, please NEVER move someone who has hit their head as there is a chance the spinal cord was damaged and will need to have proper support. Jaime, of course, lacks this knowledge, but you don't! Just in case it comes up (though hopefully not).

As usual, thanks for reading, leave some feedback if you can, and have a wonderful day! I'll see you soon!


	9. Chapter Eight

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the exclusive property of George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which make me no money.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Kyren sifted through her dark surroundings until she became more aware of her physical presence. It was quiet, she was resting on something soft, and there was another person nearby. She tried to open her eyes, but her body adamantly informed her that the sun was still up and casting beams of light into the room. As her head hurt worse than anything she could remember, Kyren heeded the warning and left her eyes closed.

As her newly-conscious mind filtered back to a more aware state, Kyren could hear a voice, but it seemed further away than she had assumed. The tone was urgent, however, and she struggled to listen and understand even while her body refused to fully awaken.

"... crown prince was attacked by the butcher's boy, Arya Stark, and the girl's direwolf. All are missing and the queen is quite distraught. She wishes you to join her."

There came the sound of a sigh. "I am to stay here. The healer said she needs to be watched over."

"Beggin' your pardon, Ser, but my brother got injured like that when I was a boy. He slept for two days straight. More'n likely, you could leave, comfort your sister, and be back before the girl ever wakes up." The strange voice grew softer. "The queen really is shaken, Ser. I've never seen her like this."

"Very well. Take me to her."

"She is in the main dining hall, Ser. I assume you can find your way? I'm to join the party searching for the Stark girl."

"Consider yourself dismissed, then." The soft sound of a door closing left the room in near silence, save for that of footsteps and someone rummaging through a pack in a corner. Kyren could recognize the sound of a quill scratching across parchment, then came a muffled curse. "Looks to have been written by a bloody child…" someone grumbled. The sounds of parchment being crumpled sent Kyren back under a wave of darkness.

When she woke once more, Kyren could open her eyes easily enough, though keeping herself from squinting around the room proved to be impossible even with the realization that the sun had set. The conversation she had overheard earlier had been eating at her mind during the length of her resting time. Arya was missing, and Kyren could not bear for that to happen without her intervention.

With significant effort and more time than should have been required, Kyren made her way out of the inn, intent upon joining the search party for Arya. She paused outside, uncertain of which direction she should begin. Kyren knew very well that she was capable of defending herself should the need arise, but walking injured and alone into the woods after darkness had fallen seemed a poor choice for anyone who wished to survive the night.

The sound of a horse approaching from the back of the inn gave Kyren a sort of hope, especially as she recognized the scarred face of the Hound. The man had never been friendly in the least, but he was efficient and if anyone would know about the search for Arya, it would be him.

Kyren's mouth opened, but before she could ask about the progress of the search party, her eyes fell upon the body slung across the back of the horse. Dimly, she recognized the face of the butcher's son. She had never spoken to the boy, but he and Arya had become fast friends on their southward journey and Kyren knew his face well enough to be shocked at the sight of it covered in blood - and set in the utter stillness of death.

The Hound passed by Kyren closely, too closely to avoid a collision. He brushed past her roughly, setting Kyren's head to spinning more violently than it had since she had drank the Dragon's Tears. She stumbled and caught herself, but the sudden motion was too much for her delicate injuries and she fell to her knees and vomited. Very little came from her stomach, but the strength of her gagging forced Kyren to press her hands against her head, fearing that it would split apart.

As she knelt before a puddle of her own sick, Kyren heard the Hound bring his horse to a standstill, spitting on the ground. She glanced at him to find the man staring down at her with derision. "If you want to become a knight so badly, _girl_ , you had best grow some balls."

He was gone before Kyren could throw back a retort. She sat in the darkness for some time, attempting vainly to gather the strength to return to the room in which she had awoken, but her legs refused to support her and her head was spinning. Even when she heard a terrible, yelping cry, she could do nothing but stare in the direction from which the noise had emanated.

"Kyren?"

Kyren nearly wept at the wholly welcome sound of Lord Stark's voice. "My apologies, Lord Stark. I meant only to help find Arya, but-"

Resting a warm arm around her shoulders, Lord Stark helped Kyren rise to her feet. "Arya has been found. She is in my room at the moment, as is Sansa. Who told you Arya was missing?"

Frowning, Kyren could only shake her head. "I haven't the slightest idea, my lord. I awoke knowing Arya could not be found, along with the butcher's boy and Nymeria. I could not sit idly by while they were lost."

A shadow seemed to pass over Lord Stark's face at her words. "Arya has been found, Nymeria seems to have disappeared after biting the Prince, and the butcher's boy…"

"I know," Kyren interrupted, not wishing for the obviously-exhausted man to be forced into reliving the events of the evening. "I saw the Hound just before you arrived."

"And he did not send for help?" Rage was the only remaining expression on Lord Stark's face.

"What was that horrible sound before you arrived?" Kyren asked in an attempt to distract him, but the lines in his face seemed only to deepen at her question.

"The queen ordered that Lady be killed in case she should turn on the company as Nymeria did," he said heavily.

Kyren remained silent at that. There was little she could say in response, and nothing that would aid the situation in any way. "How does Lady Sansa fare?"

Lord Stark glanced to her sharply. "I believe you are the first to ask after Sansa's welfare in this situation. It is a concern that will not soon be forgotten. Sansa is upset by the situation, as is natural, yet understands it to be a necessity as an order from the queen. I fear she is most unhappy with her sister, but that feeling is entirely mutual."

"And so certain things remain the same as they ever were," Kyren commented with a smile, then rapidly apologized. "Forgive me, Lord Stark. I do not know why I made such a comment."

"Nonsense," he dismissed. "You said such a thing as one who has been something of a sister to my daughters for many years. But I believe we have arrived at your chambers for the evening."

Kyren glanced up in surprise as Lord Stark knocked on a door that indeed appeared to be the same one she had left so much earlier that evening. Half a heartbeat later, the door was ripped open, a rumpled and frantic-looking Ser Jaime left standing in the gap.

He stepped aside wordlessly, allowing Kyren to stumble in on unsteady legs and collapse on the bed. Curled up on her side, she had an unimpeded view of the door and watched raptly as Lord Stark beckoned for Ser Jaime to step through, pulling the door closed behind them. If she was less exhausted, Kyren would have called out and informed them it did no good. She could hear every word, but her weariness and the ache in her head had struck her dumb.

"It is important to me that you understand what I am going to say," Lord Stark began, voice lowly threatening, rolling through the wooden door like thunder. "I entrusted the well-being of my ward to you, Lannister, and you shirked that responsibility. If Kyren had been injured in the slightest after you abandoned her, I would demand full reparations. If I did not have two distraught daughters sleeping in my room tonight, Kyren would not remain in your care. In short, if I had any option beside leaving Kyren with you, I would never have brought her back here. Is my meaning plain?"

"Yes, your meaning is quite clear," Ser Jaime returned, voice cracking like a whip in his response. Abruptly, Kyren's memories of the man she had met so long ago in Winterfell were brought to the front of her mind. She had never noticed his slowly-warming disposition until she was reminded of the one he possessed in the beginning. "Yet as much as each of us would like to change the situation, we both must realize that I am the best chance young Kyren has at a full recovery. Now, unless you are willing to risk her health in order to prove your point, she needs to rest."

"She does, but she needs something more than that," Lord Stark said crisply. "Septa Mordane will arrive shortly with another dose of Dragon's Tears. Kyren lost her stomach while wandering toward the forests surrounding the inn and much of the draught she drank is now gone."

There was quite a pause at that. "Very well. I will ensure she does not sleep until the Septa appears. Will there be anything more, _Lord_ Stark?"

"No, _Ser_ Jaime," Lord Stark fairly growled. "See that this mistake is not repeated in the future."

Ser Jaime stepped inside the room once more, slamming the door sharply behind himself. Kyren winced at the noise, grasping at her temples even as his emerald gaze flew to her. "Oh, Kyren, I apologize." He laughed, the sound holding a tinge of bitterness in the hush of the room. "I apologize for such a variety of events from the past day."

"I do not believe any of it was done purposefully," Kyren assured him.

There was no real conversation from that point. Ser Jaime watched her carefully, Kyren struggled to keep her eyes open, and both started violently when came a gentle tap on the door. Ser Jaime opened it to find Septa Mordane. The woman entered the room the moment he stood aside and perched on the bed beside Kyren.

While Kyren sipped at the tumbler of Dragon's Tears - mercifully less full than the earlier dose - the Septa kept up a stream of soothing, sympathetic chatter. "-cannot blame you one whit, my dear. That Hound… He is quite the fearsome man. I heard he fair knocked you off your feet when he passed by with- when he passed you. He ought to be ashamed, he ought! A woman, out in the dark alone and injured, no less…"

It all ran in this vein, the Septa carefully avoiding any mention of the night's tragedies. When Kyren's tumbler was at last emptied, Septa Mordane accepted it from her with a gentle pat to the girl's shoulder. "I sent word to Maester Luwin about your incident, but I assured him several times that you will recover perfectly well. Rest well, my dear. I would so hate to have lied to the good Maester."

Kyren smiled at Septa Mordane as she rose from the bed, but could not bear to speak. Her eyelids were heavy and her limbs felt as they did after a particularly challenging workout. As Kyren maneuvered her head onto the pillow, Ser Jaime extinguished the candles and the room hushed into a soft darkness.

"Whatever possessed you to leave the room, you silly thing?"

"I knew Arya was lost," Kyren explained to the ceiling of the room, lacking the energy to turn and speak directly to the Kingsguard.

There was the sound of a sigh, then the straw mattress dipped alarmingly as Ser Jaime settled beside her. "I understand the sentiment, though I hope you understand how foolishly you behaved."

Kyren scoffed, exhaustion and pain making her more blunt than she would have chosen. "Regarding foolish behavior, why did you have me brought to your chamber? It is improper. People will talk."

If silence could be said to be exasperated, this one was. "Kyren, people already talk about us. They say that I am not training you for knighthood, but attempting to seduce you."

"What?" Kyren asked sharply, more awake than she had been since their training session.

He shrugged, shoulders making a strange whispering noise against the coarse-spun bedding. "People possess filthy minds. They cannot conceive of a person who does not think in the same way."

There seemed no appropriate response to such a statement and she allowed silence to fill the small room.

* * *

Jaime stretched out slowly until he rested more comfortably on the small mattress. Kyren's small form was almost soothing next to him. They did not touch, but the distance between them was slight enough that he could feel the heat from her skin.

"I have the most revolting taste in my mouth," Kyren admitted in the darkness.

Jaime fought not to jump at the sudden sound. He would have wagered a great deal that the girl was already asleep. He should have admonished her, told her to sleep, but he found himself chuckling instead. "I am certain that you do. There is nothing to be done, however. Anyone who should happen to smell your breath would understand."

She made an indignant sound. "No one should be so close!"

The statement was ridiculous. Jaime himself was close enough to smell Kyren's breath, though he was far more distracted by the faint smell of pine and cold breezes that seemed always to surround her. Even so, he gave in to the impulse and gave several other examples so she would not grow uncomfortable at the idea of any assault to his olfactory senses.

"Perhaps a healer checking your head? A maid braiding your hair?" He hesitated before adding his last example, but Jaime was nothing if not daring. Besides, she was likely half-asleep already and it was possible she would have completely forgotten their conversation by the following morning. "A man leaning in for a kiss…"

"The healer has already checked my injuries, my hair is in a braid at the moment, and I see no men who may wish to kiss me," Kyren replied at length. Rather than wakening her further, the conversation seemed to be calming Kyren, her voice growing absent and drowsy. He attempted to continue the conversation, even as he told himself that it was a simple ploy to send her off to sleep.

"I doubt you would recognize a man who wished to kiss you," he said, amusement in his tone. "In truth, I cannot imagine you've had much experience with such things."

"Presumptive of you," Kyren snorted in the darkness. Surprised, Jaime turned his head toward her. The room was dark, but he could still see the outline of her profile against the faint moonbeams pressing in through the small window.

Unable to suppress his now-burning curiosity, Jaime adopted a casual, doubtful tone. "Is that so?"

"As it happens, yes," she said softly. "I have kissed a boy before. More than once, for that matter."

"Who?"

"The blacksmith's apprentice in a shop outside of Winterfell's walls," Kyren told him, voice faraway, though with memories or sleep, Jaime could not decide. "His name was Adarien Graen."

"Was?" Jaime asked. "Is he dead?"

"Dead?" Kyren repeated, obviously taken aback. "Of course not! I simply do not expect to see him again. He has little chance of leaving Winterfell."

"Ah," Jaime sighed, something in his chest loosening even as he attempted to push away the feeling. "Young love pushed aside. Tragic."

"Love seems an exaggeration," the girl said bluntly. "We kissed on a handful of occasions, he helped me hone my daggers, and we never pursued anything further."

"He made your daggers?"

"Adarien gave me my first dagger," Kyren revealed, and he could see her mouth curving with the memory. "I began throwing it because Theon made a wager that I could not hit anything. When I appeared to have a talent for it, Adarien worked closely with me to craft weapons with the proper blade and handle length, the correct weight, and the optimum materials. The blacksmith allowed him to use the best metals simply because I lived with Lord Stark and he owes the Starks a great debt. I treasure every dagger Adarien ever created for me."

The softness in her voice in the last statement brought back the tightening sensation in Jaime's chest and he cleared his throat in an attempt to dislodge it. There was no effect. "Perhaps it would be best if you attempt to sleep now, Kyren. You must heal as much as possible before we depart tomorrow morning."

* * *

Author's Note \- So, I really wasn't kidding when I said this was a short chapter, but even I was shocked when I saw just how short it actually ended up being. Remember back when I said I was writing the story straight and only dividing it into chapters later? Unfortunately, that means that I was unable to break this up any other way unless I wanted to leave odd gaps in timing or plot. Sorry about that, guys! Hopefully, the somewhat fluffy nature of the chapter made up for how short it was - though 'fluffy' seems like an odd way to describe a chapter that talks about blood, vomit, and a dead body.

Also, yes, I do play way too much with the fact that Jaime is dyslexic. It's a fantastic way of humanizing a character that is otherwise too perfect, and it's one of my favorite character traits in a canonical character!

Anyway, big thanks to my two reviewers on the last chapter: ZabusasGirl and TheUnknownBookLady. You guys are so wonderful! Thank you all for reading, leave some feedback if you can, and have a wonderful day!


	10. Chapter Nine

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, setting, etc. These rights belong to George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Nine

The morning brought with it many questions: namely, how long Ser Jaime could continue to watch over Kyren at the expense of his Kingsguard duties. There were several important figures debating, and Kyren was well aware that her presence was due to the simple fact that she had followed Ser Jaime to the meeting in silence, and had thus been forgotten completely. After several circling conversations, King Robert cut through the words with a single impatient gesture.

"Ser Jaime, consider yourself relieved of the duties of Kingsguard."

Only Kyren, with her gaze trained so closely on Ser Jaime's face, saw the flash of fear that crossed it. "My king," he said, rising his inflection so that it was a subtle question.

"Until the girl is well," King Robert clarified.

"As you command, my king," Ser Jaime agreed, voice tinged with a hint of relief that Kyren could not quite understand.

The party disbanded at that point. There were preparations to be made. Ser Jaime set off determinedly and Kyren followed behind him. When they had moved beyond hearing range of any others, she stepped to his side and asked, "Why are you in the Kingsguard? What do you gain?"

Ser Jaime's emerald eyes flashed down to her in bemused surprise. "Honor, naturally."

"There is honor in being a simple knight and a great deal more freedom," she insisted. "And with your family's wealth and position, you would have been landed almost immediately and could have risen to be a lord in your own right. Why the Kingsguard?"

He sighed in irritation. "Fine, then. The chance to do great deeds was a large draw."

"How many great deeds have you performed?" Kyren pressed, not meanly.

"How many have you?" Ser Jaime snapped, having truly lost his temper.

Rather than respond in anger, Kyren gave the question serious thought, considering and discarding several of the more important things she had done in her life. "None, Ser. I pray you will forgive my boldness, but I fear it is the same number you feel you have done."

"You truly believe I have never performed a great deed?"

Kyren shook her head. "I believe you have done many great deeds, Ser. I merely meant that _you_ do not believe you have."

"Kyren?" The girl turned to find Septa Mordane beckoning her over toward the Stark section of the caravan. "The healer believes that one final dose of Dragon's Tears will help ease the day's travel."

"If you will excuse me, Ser?" Kyren said with a slight bow. She rushed toward the Septa before he could give a response.

* * *

Jaime stomped through the camp, muttering to himself all the while. His stiffly-held shoulders relaxed only minutely when he heard a silvery laugh.

"Are these declarations of love I hear?" Cersei asked teasingly.

"Most assuredly not," he snarled.

"Good. However, I do not hear assertions of love from the girl, either, and I believe that was a major provision of our challenge. Regardless," she purred, smoothing a hand across his chest from behind, "the time limit has been reached. Consider our deal nullified."

"We both know I will not give up so easily," Jaime bit out, turning to his twin just as a bitter expression crossed her lovely face.

"Are you replacing me with the orphan girl, Jaime?"

"Never," he asserted softly. "I count the days until our return to King's Landing. We cannot be alone soon enough to suit me."

Her smile was achingly familiar and he belonged to her alone, so why did Jaime's throat sting with a desperate need for freedom? He pushed the feeling aside and wrapped Cersei in as brotherly an embrace as he could muster before moving off to continue making his arrangements for the day.

In the end, it was a fairly simple series of tasks: order the innkeeper to locate a wagon, hitch Kyren's oddly-colored stallion and his own dun gelding to the vehicle, pack away Kyren's tent and belongings, place them in the wagon, and make a makeshift pallet in the back for the girl to lie on and sleep through their journey.

He rode up to the girl and fixed her with a glare so fierce that she obediently climbed into the wagon and rested on the pallet without a word in question or complaint. Their wagon was to bring up the rear of the royal caravan, a far cry from his travels with the king, but Jaime found himself feeling oddly proud of the solution of his own making.

Naturally, they had not passed out of sight of the inn before the next trial presented itself: Kyren's ridiculous horse began jostling Jaime's, nipping and biting at the poor gelding until both attempted to stop and fight in earnest. Jaime managed to keep the wagon moving, but it slowed drastically, shuddering oddly from side to side.

"Stop," he ordered, snapping the reins a number of times. "Stop that!"

"Is Sotam biting your horse?" Kyren asked from behind him, apparently attempting to obey his silent instructions and lie flat in the rattling wagon.

"Yes," Jaime replied shortly. "Stop that, you brainless, four-legged beast!"

"He would never behave this way if he knew I was watching," she remarked blandly.

He did not turn to look at her directly, but his shoulders tightened with the effort not to do so. "The healer said you need to rest."

"You and I are both aware that he meant for me to rest by not working or riding intensely, by not overexerting myself. I do not believe he wished for me to sleep for days straight. Besides, Sotam will continue to harass your horse unless he can hear me berating him and I cannot do so if I am lying here pretending to sleep to avoid a lecture."

Jaime finally turned to look back at her after her last statement. "I do not _lecture_ you," he said stiffly. "I simply advise you on how to care for yourself in order to recover fully and quickly. Unless you do not wish to resume our training sessions before we arrive at King's Landing?"

"I most certainly do," the girl rapidly affirmed, "and I have carefully considered your advice, but I would very much like to sit in the front of the wagon." He gave her a skeptical look only slightly lessened by the fact that he was still turned toward the horses, but she added, "I swear upon my honor that I will return to the back of the wagon should I feel even the smallest desire to sleep."

He sighed. "A vow upon your honor is a serious thing, Kyren. Even if you should become a landed knight and gain many riches, your honor is the most valuable possession attached to your name."

"I understand, and I hope you trust that I am being sincere. So may I sit with you until I grow tired?"

With a grumble and another snap of the thin leather reins against her horse's flank, Jaime relented. "Very well, if you can prove your ability to control your willful animal."

She sat up fully, glaring over the back of his bench seat at the stallion. " _Sotam,_ " she snapped in as menacing a tone as she could muster. The horse cocked an ear back toward her voice, shook his head, and continued plodding along in pace with Jaime's dun gelding, behaving as though the past few minutes of torment had never occurred.

Kyren clambered over the bench seat, placing herself firmly beside him while he was still attempting to decide whether to laugh or curse in utter frustration, but she flashed him a brilliant smile and asked, "What is the name of your horse?"

It was a diversion, an attempt at distracting him away from any lecture he may have prepared. Jaime knew he should brush it off, toss out any name and continue their ride in silence, but he found himself craving her reaction to the truth. With a sidelong glance, he admitted, "He does not have a name."

The girl did not disappoint. With widened eyes and a horrified gape, she said slowly, "No name? That seems as if it would be inconvenient. How do you call for him?"

"I do not call for him," Jaime answered simply. "I know where he is or I have a servant find him."

"But how do you think of him in your mind? Surely you must associate him with a term other than 'horse'."

"It may come as a shock to you," Jaime drawled, "but not all people feel it necessary to treat their horse as if it is a child."

Kyren stiffened at his retort, glancing away from him and into the forest. It was believable at first, but Jaime knew for a fact that there was nothing of interest in those trees as he was looking at the same view. He reviewed his last statement and could come to no other conclusion than that she had been offended by his teasing of her treatment of the oddly-colored stallion.

Gently, he nudged her shoulder with his own. "In my thoughts, I associate him with Rok."

"Rok?" she asked at length.

"Rok was the most famous horse ridden by the Andals as they first conquered Westeros. It is said that all of the best-bred horses who live have at least a drop of Rok's blood in their veins."

"You are descended from the Andals, are you not?" Kyren finally turned to him once more, pale brown eyes seeming abruptly more distant.

"We both are, more than likely," Jaime mused. "However, I can directly trace my ancestry to the Andals. Most of House Lannister is able to, as well."

"I know," she assured him. "I was informed that your specific part of House Lannister is one of the few with so direct a line, as most of the others chose to intermarry with the First Men."

"And what caused you to take such an interest in House Lannister?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Kyren grinned up at him suddenly, seeming more herself than she had since before the accident. "I was told recently that I am woefully under-informed about the Lannister family. I believed it best to learn more before I underwent this journey."

With the tension thoroughly broken, their conversation flowed as both the land and the time flew past. Kyren's witch's eyes were utterly arresting as the caravan passed through dappled patches of sunlight, though Jaime told himself that he searched their depths with such frequency in order to detect whether Kyren was growing weary. No other explanation was worthy of consideration.

* * *

From the moment Kyren had met Ser Jaime Lannister - even before she knew him as the infamous Kingslayer - she would hardly have called him a trustworthy man. However, along their journey to King's Landing, she had grown to appreciate his blunt, logical mind and the way he recognized the tactically-advantageous course of action without taking morals into account. This was not to say that he had no morals, for he had a set of personal and uncompromising values, but in their conversations, he had never shied away from voicing an unpleasant opinion.

After she had discovered the knight was in possession of a mind so different from her own, Kyren had taken to seeking out his perspective on various topics. On their second day of riding in the wagon, Ser Jaime had made no attempts whatsoever to convince her to lie down. Instead, she rode beside him and they fell into discussion about many things, last of which was the Unsullied.

"It would be far kinder for a parent to kill their baby than allow it to be trained as a fighter for the Unsullied," Ser Jaime asserted firmly.

"You cannot truly believe that?" Kyren asked, horrified.

"I do," he replied. "The Unsullied are slaves, their entire lives subject to the will of whoever buys them. They will be used to fight wars for causes no one would rally to by choice, they are mutilated so that they will never father children, and they are even stripped of names so that no one may possibly mourne them once they have died. What good could come of living such a life?"

"The fact that it _is_ life," she argued.

"It hardly counts as life at all," he objected. "The Unsullied are broken, destroyed mentally, and trained to the exacting standards of their masters. They then fight unerringly, ceaselessly, and _without choice_ against any enemy at whom their masters point. That is not life."

"The Unsullied are men who breathe, whose hearts beat, who still _live._ Where there is life, there is hope that life will improve. With death, there is nothing."

"If you had ever seen an army across a battlefield, knowing that your loss would spell either death or slavery, you would pray for the former." He shuddered, the distance in his eyes turning them from sparkling emerald to chips of flat jade. "The nothingness of death pales in comparison with an eternity without freedom, knowing that at the slightest whim of your master, you could be sent into war against your own people, your own family…"

"Rather like being a Kingsguard, I suppose," Kyren said thoughtlessly, never wondering until the words left her mouth if she had gone too far.

Thankfully, Ser Jaime simply shook his head. "I can leave the Kingsguard if necessary. If I feel I cannot adequately protect the king or if I am needed to produce an heir for my House. There is little honor in such a path, but it can be done. The Unsullied have no such option."

Kyren sighed. "I do not claim that I would choose life as a member of the Unsullied over being a free citizen, but I still believe it a fate preferable to death."

Ser Jaime snorted. "Spoken as a free-born girl of Westeros who has never seen slavers marching toward her."

Meeting his gaze steadily, Kyren shook her head. "No, it is spoken as an orphan who has seen the finality of death more closely than is comfortable."

His face softened into something almost warm, but whatever reply Ser Jaime would have made was lost as the caravan pulled to a stop for the day. The Kingsguard tugged on the reins, bringing Sotam and Rok to a smooth halt.

Their wagon was always at the back of the caravan and by the time the wagon stopped, most of the other travelers were already in the process of unloading horses and pitching tents. This day was no exception. Amid the bustle, Ser Jaime caught at Kyren's arm. "Kyren, I-"

"Jaime?" Queen Cersei herself strode regally toward their wagon, one golden eyebrow cocked expectantly. "Pardon my interruption, but I require a word with my brother."

Kyren inclined her head deeply, thankful such a motion no longer caused waves of dizziness to explode through her body. "No pardon is necessary, your grace."

Ser Jaime climbed down from the wagon. "I will return to unload the wagon and build your tent for tonight. Do not attempt to perform either task alone."

Kyren nodded her agreement and watched as the queen and knight strode past the edges of the camp and into the shadows of the surrounding forest. Even before they disappeared from view, the two had fallen into deep conversation.

* * *

"Is everything well? Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella? All are well?" Jaime asked, scarcely able to keep the panic in his voice stifled into an ill-disguised concern.

"Yes, they are perfectly well," Cersei said with a crooked smile. "I only wished to learn what the two of you were discussing so… _earnestly_."

Jaime's heartbeat pounded thickly in his throat. Cersei _never_ approached him unless it was something of an emergency. She felt - and had told him countless times in the past - that it was far too notable when she sought him out and preferred their meetings occur by more clandestine methods. His mind so focused on such matters, he unthinkingly replied with the unvarnished truth. "The Unsullied."

Cersei's smile wobbled slightly. "The soldiers? What an odd choice of conversation for such a peaceful journey. I hope the girl has no secret desires to join their ranks?"

Jaime's stomach flopped unpleasantly at the thought. If even half the stories of Unsullied training methods were true, death would by far be the better option for Kyren, even if the stubborn girl refused to admit such a thing. "There are no female Unsullied," he replied, far more shortly than he had intended.

The smile dropped from Cersei's face altogether as she furrowed golden eyebrows over speculative green eyes. "I was jesting, Jaime. Of course there are no female Unsullied. Whatever has you so distracted today?"

Running a hand over the roughness of the short stubble on his jaw, Jaime shook his head and smiled apologetically at his twin. "Forgive me, sister. These have been long days and the travel-weariness has me far less intelligent than is typical."

Rather than smile or jest with him in return, Cersei nodded thoughtfully and began moving away, beckoning him to follow. "Yes, that is something I wished to discuss with you."

Winding further through the sparse trees that grew all-too-commonly so close to King's Landing, Cersei seemed to be gathering her thoughts. At length, she began with, "You have no real obligations toward the orphan girl. I do not understand why you are both riding in the wagon. Surely she is well enough to ride, or at least to drive the wagon alone?"

"The girl's injuries are my doing, however inadvertently," Jaime argued. "I wish to be sure she is fully healed before she attempts to ride once more."

"You pushed a child from a window not two months hence," Cersei reminded. "Forgive me if I struggle to credit your concern as fully sincere."

Jaime forced his most wicked smile. "You may not require me to win the orphan to our side any longer, but allowing her condition to worsen would earn the further enmity of Ned Stark. We do not require his trust, but his active dislike would create far more difficulty for our lives."

Cersei slanted emerald eyes at him, lush mouth quirking into an appreciative smile. "There is my clever twin. I do so love when you use your mind for the good of House Lannister."

When the last purring word had left her lips, Cersei tugged him down into a passionate kiss. Jaime lost himself for a few moments in the comfort of her familiar embrace, but she soon pulled away, leaving both to catch their breath in the silence of their section of forest.

"With some extra wine and a short dalliance, I am certain the king will sleep deeply enough for me to come to your tent tonight," she murmured, stroking long fingers through Jaime's golden hair.

A 'dalliance'. It was the term Cersei used to imply sucking off the king, fisting his cock, anything she could do to bring her husband release without being directly affected. Jaime fought back a wave of something close to disgust. How many nights had she come to find him after one of her dalliances, smelling of another man and tasting even worse?

Jaime shook his head, looking as regretful as possible. "It is too much of a risk. My tent will be beside Kyren's, and she sleeps far too lightly for comfort."

Cersei frowned fiercely at that, but Jaime spoke before she could work herself into a true rage. "Only a short while longer, my love, and we will return to King's Landing. No one can stop us there."

Her expression cleared, just as he knew it would. "You are right, Jaime. You are always right. Shall we return to the camp? I am sure the girl misses you by now."

* * *

Ser Jaime returned suddenly, the queen stepping away with a graceful nod in Kyren's direction before she strolled off toward the more grandiose tents in the camp. Without looking at her, Ser Jaime muttered something about unhitching the horses and Kyren followed along. As they discovered the night before, Sotam's dislikes included Ser Jaime as well as other horses.

"I know it sounds mad, but I feel my sense of smell is stronger than it was before I fell," Kyren admitted abruptly. It was a bid to fill the silence, to return the strange sense of camaraderie that had blossomed between herself and the knight over the past two days. She prayed silently that he would respond and her heart soared when he sent her a lopsided grin.

"Are you certain you don't mean to say that your smell is stronger? You have not bathed since your injury…" he trailed, pretending to inhale through his nose above her head before pulling a horrid face.

Kyren fought back her responding grin and scowled at him. "Charming," she said caustically. "But I am in earnest! I can smell everything. I know which soldiers have oiled their armor recently, I could tell you where any of the three latrine pits have been dug, and…" she fell into silence, sniffing the air delicately. "I could swear I smell the queen's perfume. She left some time ago, yet I could swear on my honor that I can smell her at this very moment."

In an abrupt flurry of motion, Ser Jaime turned back to the wagon and unbuckled the harnesses. Kyren seized Sotam's bridle immediately to keep the stallion from biting the knight as he dealt with the far more patient Rok. When everything was settled, he said gruffly, "We need to be rid of this wagon. Do you think you'll be able to ride a horse tomorrow?"

Kyren thought that over for a long moment. "I believe so. I have not been dizzy at all today and my appetite has fully returned. But what will we do with the wagon?"

Ser Jaime gave a small half-shrug. "The caravan has no need of another wagon. I will likely sell it. There is a town close to us. If I leave early tomorrow, I can meet up with the caravan before it has traveled far."

"Do you need the money so badly?" Kyren asked, and when he turned to her in mild displeasure, she hastily explained, "No offense intended, Ser Jaime. I only meant that we were given the wagon for nothing. Can we not give it away for the same?"

Ser Jaime shook his head slightly, more to himself than to her, and made a frustrated noise. "If it means so much to you. Remember, however, that you will be required to join me. I need your impertinent horse to help pull the wagon to the town."

"Of course, Ser!" she exclaimed, bounding off on a search for the best spot to pitch her tent. The temporary shelter was half-constructed when Ser Jaime at last appeared to lecture her on working when she was not yet required.

For the first time since her injury, Kyren joined the rest of the caravan for the evening meal. The same food that had tasted so bland before now seemed to have a plethora of flavor compared to the thin porridge and crumbling wafers she had been instructed to eat until she felt her injuries were fully healed.

Kyren chose to sit with the Stark party, the warm welcome she received from Septa Mordane, Arya, and Lord Stark more than enough to compensate for Sansa's cooler reception. In truth, Kyren was rather surprised the older Stark girl had not opted to dine with the queen and her children, but appreciated the feeling of unity with her adopted family regardless of the cause.

* * *

Jaime swallowed a yawn as he squinted in the dawn's brightness. He stood on the outskirts of the town so close to where the caravan had camped on the previous night and his patience was growing thin. The horses were unhitched, the wagon waiting to be given to some lucky peasant, but Kyren was reluctant to accept any of the passersby. They had already seen several people rolling over the pink-painted hills to sell goods at the market.

"What about this gentleman?" Jaime asked, exaggerated patience in his voice.

She surveyed the man for a long moment, watching with her parchment-colored eyes as he rode past, snapping his whip at the mule pulling his wagon. She shook her head.

"And why not?" he asked, exasperated.

"He's beaten that mule half to death," she explained and Jaime's entire body became a single nerve of irritation.

"Have you decided that your true aspiration is to be the High Septon rather than a knight?" he snipped childishly, but the girl ignored him, stepping closer to the road as another man approached.

"Excuse me!" she called in a voice as friendly as the smile on her round face.

The man pulled the tied-rope bridle wrapped around the muzzles of his tired-looking donkey team and smiled as his tiny cart - full nearly to spilling with fresh produce - came to rest beside him. "Good mornin', miss! And how do ye find yerself today?"

"Very well, and yourself? I hope the road was easy this morning."

The man shook his head, but his bright smile never wavered. "Matter o' fact, it weren't, but only 'cause this cart o' mine like to fall apart on me! Built it too many years ago, if ye know what I mean."

"I know exactly what you mean!" Kyren said with a laugh. "Interestingly, I was going to talk to you about your wagon. We have this one, you see. It has carried us safely over a great distance, but we have no further use of it. Would you be interested in taking it?"

Scuffing one worn boot in the dirt of the road, the man's smile dropped a bit in brightness, but not in sincerity. "I would love to, miss, but I jes' don't have the gold. Thank ye kindly for the offer."

"Oh, no, you misunderstand!" Kyren insisted. "It was given to us for nothing and we'll take nothing for it. It is your wagon if you should decide you want it."

The man glanced from Kyren to the wagon beside Jaime, then back to his own small cart as his eyes filled with tears. "Thank ye, miss. Blessin's be upon ye both, every blessin' the Seven can bestow."

Jaime winced in sympathy as the man reached out to pull Kyren into an embrace. On the - admittedly rare - occasions upon which Jaime performed services for the common people, he _despised_ when one wanted to thank him with a touch, no matter how friendly. The stench of unwashed bodies, dirt-packed clothes, rotting teeth… It was something from which he fought his way clear at first opportunity, but Kyren seemed not to share his qualms. She embraced and chatted and fielded the man's thanks with humility and charity. She was perfection in the eyes of the vows Jaime himself had taken, and in an uncomfortable flash, he realized that she was already a far better knight than he had ever been - and she was lacking all of the things he had taken for granted.

The realization was enough to prod him to stop the display. "Kyren, we must leave if we are to catch the caravan," he called sharply.

The girl nodded understandingly, wished the man luck once more, and pulled herself astride her impatient beast of a horse. They rode in silence for a time and Jaime found himself nearly hypnotized by the waves of wind moving through the long grasses of a field when Kyren spoke once more.

"How did you become a member of the Kingsguard?"

Jaime's mind flashed through the struggles of gaining his current position: the terrible dread he felt watching Aegon Targaryen's slide into madness, the agony of deciding what course of action to take when faced with the choice of breaking his vows or watching thousands die. As if those memories were not sufficiently painful, his mind also summoned the moment of decision, the shock of Ned Stark's arrival and the realization that Jaime had not been killed, followed by years of countless insults and abuse from those who labeled him 'Kingslayer'. He thought of the same experiences, those same horrors, befalling the girl beside him and felt his stomach twist.

In a voice that was only somewhat unsteady, he commanded, "Tell me that is not your ultimate goal."

Kyren blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence. When the girl did speak, it was to say, "It would be an honor, to be certain, but I hardly expect to earn the rank of knight, let alone Kingsguard. I was only wondering your story."

 _Lovely_ , he grumped in his thoughts. If there was one worse experience than reliving his memories of that particular time, it would be relaying them to the girl. In an attempt to avoid the conversation, Jaime snorted. "You truly believe you will never attain the rank of knight? I know twenty knights who have done less than you to deserve the title."

"That is…" She trailed off, giving an eventual sigh. "Rather disheartening, thank you. I assume that my sex is my major impediment?"

Jaime shook his head. "Your major impediment is that you are not friends with people ill-suited to power, people who would knight any fool who performs a favor."

"I see," Kyren mused slowly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "And what are the names of these powerful, judgment-lacking individuals?"

He frowned at the girl, ready to berate her for the attempted shortcut, but found her eyes twinkling teasingly. Jaime felt his own visage shifting to match hers as he replied, "We are both aware that you could never find pleasure in gaining a position in such a way."

"I believe you are correct," she admitted. "But would it not be wonderful to be a person who could feel secure in such a decision? Life would be far easier."

The smile fell from Jaime's face as he watched Kyren lean forward to murmur encouragement to her horse and pat the grey's neck. He had known her for such a short time, yet he felt as if he truly _knew_ her. "No," he said softly. "Westeros needs people such as you. Those who know that the correct path is rarely easy and hardly ever enjoyable. You are of a rare sort."

Kyren's parchment eyes flashed to him, a startled expression on her face, but he spoke again before she could reply. "We have found the caravan. I must return to the king. Do not overexert yourself. If you should find yourself growing faint, send someone for me and I will return."

She nodded in silence and he rode rapidly away from her side, feeling as if he had revealed an uncomfortable amount of his soul.

* * *

Author's Note \- I know what you're thinking: this is a super late chapter compared to the original estimation on my profile. I agree, but it does happen occasionally, which is why I let the reviewers of the previous chapter know if there's going to be a delay. (Special thanks and apologies to TheUnknownBookLady, whose review caught me off-guard and I forgot to respond in the process of cranking this chapter out. Expect a message of thanks from me shortly!) This is officially the longest chapter to date, so maybe that will help apologize?

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Drop some feedback if you can? I'll try to get the next chapter published in less than a week and I hope you have a wonderful day!


	11. Chapter Ten

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of_ Thrones or any related titles, plots, settings, characters, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Ten

King's Landing was a large, sprawling city visible nearly a full day before their arrival. Kyren had been studying it eagerly for some time, as the king had chosen to camp a distance outside the city so the caravan would arrive in the morning rather than just after sundown. On the day of their journey's end, she found herself totally absorbed in the slowly-changing surroundings. The dirt roads turned to cobblestone and fields became mere backdrops for markets as King's Landing rose up around them.

As the caravan reached the outskirts of the city, crowds began to form. Kyren spotted a white cape making its way toward her - a Kingsguard, though not Ser Jaime. Politely, she urged Sotam toward him at a faster pace and he inclined his head slightly as they met. "Greetings, I am Ser Edam Barrin. Lord Stark has requested you join his party at the head of the caravan for our entrance into King's Landing."

Dutifully, Kyren followed him to the aforementioned position, just behind the royal family. Lord Stark was on his proud northern charger with his daughters just behind on their own, gentler mares. Kyren fought back a wave of concern to see the girls with their positions so sharply traded: Sansa nearly bounced in her saddle with excitement, blue gaze trying to take in everything at once. Arya, by contrast, sat dismally astride the slow-moving horse, her expression dull and disinterested. Though she resolved to find a solution to Arya's melancholy later, Kyren resigned herself to distraction for their entrance into the capital city.

The streets and buildings passed in a haze of tan and grey, everything paling in comparison to the castle that was the caravan's final destination. The caravan moved closer to the imposing castle looming over the city, and the people began greeting some of the royals by name. It was easy for the Northerners to forget after a month of living with the royal family and another month traveling with them exactly how important they were, but the difference in social standing was thrown into sharp relief upon their arrival at the capital. Kyren distracted herself from the bitter feeling of unimportance by noting that each member of the royal family responded to the attention in a different way.

King Robert seemed to treat the adoration as a game, attempting to entice the crowds into ever-louder cheers. Queen Cersei appeared largely indifferent to the people, accepting their attention as her due and moving on without any real affectation. Prince Joffrey basked in it, occasionally giving a wave or a smile to further stoke the noise, glancing back to Sansa occasionally to ensure she was properly impressed (she certainly appeared to be so). Even Ser Jaime received cheers and, though he pretended to ignore the attention, Kyren was close enough to see the satisfied smirk he wore under his helmet.

In a blur of shops and houses, the caravan was inside the gates of the Red Keep and the entire party began to disperse. Kyren stood uncomfortably with the Stark family, Jory Cassel, and the men they had brought from Winterfell until they were directed by the castle steward - a dignified man with an impressive moustache who introduced himself as Hayard.

Hayard efficiently dispatched a handful of footmen and handmaidens to help the ladies Stark transport and unpack their belongings in the quarters which had been assigned to them. Lord Stark was called away almost immediately to a meeting of the small council and another set of footmen were sent to transport and store his belongings. Grooms came to take the caravan's horses. One even managed to somewhat subdue Sotam before the stallion could do any permanent damage to the poor boy. He waved off her apologies and led Sotam toward the stables along with all the other horses.

While Kyren watched her stallion being led away, most of the people in the courtyard had dispersed, leaving her standing alone with Hayard. The steward stared at her dispassionately before saying, "We do not have a place for you, Kyren Asheworth."

Kyren blinked at his cold tone. "Ah… I understand. I can stay with Jory and the men from Winterfell."

Hayard sniffed. "Impossible. The men have been placed in the soldier's barracks and women may not stay there. Or rather, women should not stay there. The results would be unspeakable." Hayard smirked at her with pale eyes turning derisive. "At least, for the rest of us. I suppose it would be little out of the realm of possibility for you."

Back stiffening involuntarily, Kyren sent an extremely impolite glare toward the Red Keep's steward. "I beg your pardon?"

"I understand that several matters of propriety are handled differently in the North than they are here, but we do not allow men and women to share rooms outside of wedlock in King's Landing and especially in the Red Keep. Such a thing is unacceptable by our standards."

The effects of the long journey suddenly crept up on Kyren, lending her tone a snap it would otherwise have been missing. "And how did Ser Jaime respond when you presented your poisonous attitude to him?"

"Ser Jaime is a knight, a member of the Kingsguard, and a Lannister. You are none of these," Hayard explained with false patience.

"I see," Kyren said shortly. "I am worthy of insult because I am not important enough to fight back. You are a coward and unworthy of my attention."

She turned and stalked away, realizing only after her retreat had begun that she had no notion of the castle's layout. Undaunted, she strode through the nearest open doorway until she was out of range for the steward's glare, only then pausing to stare around in awe.

Everything in sight was built of enormous, light-colored stone that had been hewn into near-perfect rectangles, vastly different from the familiar misshapen rock and mortar walls of Winterfell. It was plain to see that the Red Keep had been built sparing no expense, focusing on appearance as much as utility, and the results were simply breathtaking.

Kyren was studying the vaulted ceilings when she bumped into someone, nearly falling over before they reached out to steady her. Kyren smiled when her eyes met Ser Jaime's bemused gaze for the first time in several days. "Whatever were you doing? I have been trying to gain your attention for some time."

"This place is beautiful," she whispered, then fought back a blush as she cleared her throat. "It is quite impressively built."

Ser Jaime gave their surroundings a cursory glance before shrugging. "I suppose so. Listen, Hayard is a bit… unfriendly. I heard that the two of you had a disagreement."

Kyren felt her face settle into hard lines. "He refuses to let me stay here. He disapproves of… me. He disapproves of me and says there is no place for me in the Red Keep."

She had been set to confide in Ser Jaime, to rage at him about the lack of justice. Why should she be punished for staying the night in a room with him - all laws of propriety observed - yet his character was unassailed? And her presence in his room having been on his orders, no less! However, at the last moment, Kyren could not allow herself to say such a thing. If nothing else, it seemed ungrateful and the knight had truly put forth effort to be sure she was healing properly.

Seeming displeased regardless, Ser Jaime shook his head. "Ignore whatever Hayard told you. You will be staying in the Red Keep, though it will be in the lower chambers."

"Lower chambers?" Kyren repeated questioningly.

The apologetic tone in Ser Jaime's voice warned that she may not like the explanation. "The part of the castle housing the handmaidens, scullery maids, and whores."

"I understand," Kyren responded dryly. "If you will excuse me, Ser Jaime?"

Without further excuse, Kyren left the Red Keep on foot, still dressed in her well-worn traveling clothes.

* * *

As she wandered through the grim-soaked underbelly of King's Landing, Kyren began to wonder at her choices. Whatever had possessed her to leave Winterfell so willingly, especially when she had begun to scrounge of modicum of respect for herself from the frigid northerners? Now she was left with a punishment of a place in which to live unless she somehow was able to find an alternative in the depths of the capital - an especially challenging feat considering she had no riches to her name.

Her mind snapped abruptly back to her surroundings as she was forced to leap backward to avoid a man being forcibly pushed from the doorway of a rowdy tavern. Kyren stood for a moment in the aftermath, observing as the man found his footing and his voice, throwing out curses as quickly as he could draw breath to supply them. By the time his ranting began to grow repetitive, Kyren had decided to enter the building herself.

She stepped into a room that was small and packed with people of all sorts, but relentlessly clean, giving an oddly dire effect. Furthering this effort, every patron of the tavern seemed to be cheerfully preparing for death. Kyren was no stranger to the consumption of alcohol, even in excess, but she had never seen men drinking as though they wished to drown in it.

"Hello," a voice greeted, friendly and pleasantly male.

Kyren turned to find a man with a riotous mop of blue-black hair and the most wicked blue eyes she had ever seen. Noting her study of his appearance, the man winked roguishly at her and shot a grin, but Kyren forced herself to remain unaffected despite the smile tugging at her lips. "Troubles all solved, then?"

The man's grin did not move an inch at her casually professional tone. "Ah, saw that, did you? Sorry to have frightened you, love, but I'm not sorry you got the chance to see me in action."

Despite herself, Kyren chuckled at his preening. "You know I saw the man who removed the troublemaker from your place of business. I know you are not him."

"Observative and blunt," he said approvingly. "Are you blunt enough to tell me your name without the benefit of a proper introduction?"

"Kyren," she supplied with a slight incline of her head.

"Tarik," he returned, reaching a hand out expectantly. Kyren glanced down at the appendage and back to Tarik's face, lifting a brow in inquisitive silence. Tarik shrugged. "I may be a tavern keeper, but I know one is to kiss the hand of a lady when introductions are made."

Kyren frowned at him. "You are mistaken; I am no lady."

Tarik waved off the explanation. "Perhaps you don't got a title, but you were raised rich and no mistaking it. I can always tell."

Lifting her chin stubbornly, Kyren summoned an image of the hut in which she had been raised before answering. "I was raised as poor as you please. Likely worse than you could even imagine. I say again: you are mistaken, I am no lady."

His wide mouth broke into an easy smile. "As you say. What brings you to Dyser's, Not-Lady Kyren?"

"Dyser's?" she asked before she could remind herself that even an impression of intelligence has value in such a situation.

Tarik nodded, to his credit not attempting to use her confusion to his advantage. "This is Dyser's Tavern. It is owned by my mother, Shana Dyser." He gestured to a pretty woman with his blue-black curls who was laughing flirtatiously with a table of drunken men. "My brother and I keep the ale flowing and try to keep the peace, as best we can anyway. Bracks is the one you saw… _escorting_ one of our guests from the premises."

When she glanced around the room, Kyren found the tall, heavily-muscled man who shared Tarik and Shana's hair - though his own was shorn close to his scalp - and Shana's hazel eyes. His face seemed permanently set in a scowl and he made no response to the various attempts at conversation as he moved through the crowd. "Is he well?"

"That is a matter of opinion," Tarik said with a laugh, though he sobered rapidly when Kyren tossed him a skeptical glance. "To be honest, no. Bracks was courting a fetching little thing, but she was murdered last week."

"That is terrible!" Kyren gasped disbelievingly.

Tarik gave a sad shrug. "That is life in Flea Bottom." Kyren stared at him and he smirked momentarily. "This part of King's Landing is known as Flea Bottom. By the Seven, you truly are a new arrival! Poor welcome, I fear."

Doing her best to ignore the man's remarks, Kyren mused, "I am surprised that your mother does not allow Bracks a few days of personal time, enough to begin healing his wounds."

"I do not make a habit of answering challenges on how to run a business," a throaty voice began to Kyren's left, "but I will depart from my typical behavior in this instance."

Kyren moved slightly away from Shana Dyser as Tarik said warningly, "Mother, be kind."

"The reason I do not allow my son the time to begin healing, stranger, is that I do not have the luxury of hiring additional assistance for my tavern. I fear I am one of that regretful sort that values my property and the safety of my loved ones over anyone's state of mind."

Before making her response, Kyren studied Shana carefully. The woman's hazel eyes were blazing, but held no malice. She believed herself to be defending her choices against the judgments of a stranger, and what person could rightly blame her for such a thing? "I apologize for my questions, Shana Dyser," Kyren said respectfully. "As it happens, I am in need of lodging and would readily offer my services as your additional assistance."

"You?" Shana asked, gaze moving over Kyren in a way that made clear that she found the younger girl lacking. It was a process Kyren had grown intimately familiar with over her life and did not allow it to shake her confidence.

"Yes, I. I have been trained in combat against larger opponents for many years and I believe you will find me more than capable of handling situations in your tavern." Her voice was steady and sure, no mean feat with Shana's skeptical pose.

Before the raven-haired woman could begin to make her reply, a flurry of shouting erupted in a corner of the tavern and Shana gestured to it with a smile. "A convenient chance to prove yourself, would you not agree?"

Kyren nodded solemnly and moved to the source of the commotion. It seemed that one of the patrons had attempted to steal gold from a far more inebriated man. After ascertaining that the gold had been recovered, Kyren leaned down to whisper in the attempted thief's ear. "I believe you need to follow me."

"Didn'ja hear me, girl? This fool stole what was rightly mine an' I don't have no money for whores." He turned slightly to slur directly at Kyren and broke out laughing. "Not that yer much of a whore anyway! Surprised yer not starvin' t'death!"

With a tight smile, Kyren raised her voice slightly. "You are no longer welcome in Dyser's tavern. You need to leave."

The man pushed up out of his chair, allowing it to clatter heavily to the floor. At his full height, he had to lean over to leer unpleasantly at Kyren, but he managed. "I ain't goin' anywhere, whore. I got no money, but maybe ye need a good fuckin' to quiet that mouth o' yers."

He reached for her and with a grasp, a duck, and a quick twist, Kyren had the man's face pressed to his own table, his elbow pulled up sharply behind his back. "When I let you up, you are going to leave the tavern and never return," she said in a measured tone.

"Fuck ye, whore! I am gonna-"

Dyser's Tavern never discovered what the man was planning to do because Kyren used her left hand to pull the man's head back with a hank of greasy hair and slammed it back to the table, breaking his nose with a satisfying snap. He screamed curses and threats, but quieted quickly when Kyren wrenched his arm up and he suddenly understood that she could snap the limb at the elbow.

Holding that pressure steadily, Kyren lifted his upper body from the table and moved him bodily toward the door of the pub. One of the silent patrons opened the door and she pushed him outside. When he landed in the mud outside, the man glared up at Kyren, continuing his threats.

"If you return to this place, I will break your nose, your arm, and something far less easily mended." He seemed not to understand until Kyren deliberately allowed her gaze to drop toward his private parts, then he paled. Rather than wait for an assent, Kyren re-entered the tavern and found her way back to Shana and Tarik. The former looked begrudgingly impressed while the latter wore yet another irreverent grin.

"Do you believe I will suffice? I ask nothing but a place to sleep." Kyren remained polite and unruffled as she addressed the owner of the pub.

Shana considered her for a long moment. "We will need your assistance during the evening hours and in exchange, I can offer you a small room in the top floor of this building. What say you?"

"I accept," Kyren said with a smile and a slight bow of her head. "I will leave to gather my belongings, but I will return shortly."

* * *

Kyren had been largely absent from the Red Keep since the caravan's arrival in King's Landing. The castle was large enough and he certainly had not expected to see her often, but Jaime was a member of the Kingsguard. He moved in, through, and around the Red Keep every moment of the day, yet he saw the girl perhaps once every week and nearly always in the company of a member of the Stark party.

His concern had grown to the extent of asking after her grey stallion, only to find that the horse had not left the royal stables for more than a short ride or two since their arrival to the capital city. Even more worrisome was that none of the handmaidens or scullery maids even recognized a description of Kyren, let alone her name.

Jaime was wandering the grounds when he finally witnessed her arrival. He was off duty and walking back from some light sword practice when he chanced upon the main gates just as a familiar redheaded female was chatting with a guard.

"I cannot say as that I recognize you…" the guard trailed. Jaime frowned, ready to intervene and allow Kyren entrance - as well as interrogate her about her previous whereabouts.

Rather than appearing flustered, Kyren laughed. "Waylar, I would wager you know me better than your own sister! I see you far more often."

The guard - presumably Waylar - chuckled in response. "You would be correct. Go on, then, into the Red Keep with you."

"Thank you, good Ser," Kyren jested with a flourishing bow. "Tell Elras and Eyan I bid them good day."

"They will be sorry to have missed you!" Waylar called after her, locking eyes with Jaime as he did so. The teasing smile dropped from his face and he hurriedly turned back to his guard post with a painfully straight posture.

Kyren had yet to see Jaime and he took a moment to observe her with no one taking notice. Her dark red hair was pulled away from her face in a simple braided style and her clothes were nondescript. The drab browns and greys making up her outfit and cloak served to brighten the color of her hair and turned her eyes to something otherworldly and wild-looking. King's Landing had been good for her these past weeks, shaping her muscled arms still further and giving definition - and a hint of a tan - to her round face.

As the girl moved still closer, Jaime could see a smattering of freckles across her slightly crooked nose and sprinkling down her high forehead. He smiled a bit before he could stop himself and when Kyren's buff-colored eyes met his own, she matched the expression.

"Ser Jaime. How do you find yourself this lovely day?"

Jaime brushed a hand through his golden hair, deliberately mussing the strands as he gave a small shrug. "Rather on the warm side, but I've just come from the training fields. And yourself?"

It was a deliberately trailing sort of comment, designed so that she would feel the need for an explanation on her side, but Kyren seemed to deliberately avoid his meaning. "I am quite well, thank you! I am off to see Arya at the moment."

 _Perhaps something a bit more blunt is required_ , Jaime mused. "I have not encountered you often in the Keep. I had every intention of resuming our training here, but I admit that I have been quite unable to find you."

"Is that so?" Kyren asked innocently. "I am free most mornings. Perhaps if we arranged a more precise training time, I would be better able to make myself available."

"Kyren," he said solemnly, grasping at her hand to pull her to a stop beside him. "None of the handmaidens or maids know you, no whores recognize your description, and yet you know all of the guards. Wherever have you been spending your nights?" She did not immediately respond and his stomach clenched in a terrible mixture of anger, disappointment, and an inexplicable sense of envy. "If you have been staying with some man or another, you need not do so. A private room may be found."

The girl stared at him blankly, giving an abrupt laugh. "You believe I have been… erm, _working_ for my keep?"

She attempted to tug her hand out of his own, but Jaime merely tightened his grip. "You need not be fearful. No one need discover what has been done."

"I must admit myself slightly insulted by your insinuations, Ser Jaime!" Kyren said, caught between exasperation and laughter. "I have done no such thing, and so there is no need to fear discovery!"

"You- You have not?"

"Of course not!" she replied, thankfully falling onto the side of laughter. She squeezed his hand and he released hers in an overwhelming wave of relief.

"Why will you not tell me where you have been spending time, then? Surely nothing could be worse than…"

"Than you accusing me of being a whore for the second time in our acquaintance?" Kyren supplied teasingly.

Jaime swallowed a groan of humiliation. "Kyren, I must apologize once more-"

"There is no need, Ser," she refused with a grin. "I am not proud of my actions of late, but in comparison to such options, I feel far more secure."

"And may I ask about these actions of which you are so ashamed?"

Kyren blew out a breath, avoiding his eyes. "Ungrateful as it sounds, I was displeased with the lodging offered me in the Red Keep, and thus decided to find an alternative. I have spent much of the past few weeks traveling between my current home and the castle and I freely admit that the demanding schedule has been difficult, but I feel my actions are ultimately for the best."

Once more, Jaime found himself startled into silence. The girl was not even staying at the castle? Small wonder that he had seen her so rarely. "And what lodging have you secured? I assume it is in a safe section of King's Landing."

"Safe enough for someone who knows how to fight," she said dismissively, adding with a grin, "And I have friends enough on the City Watch, besides!"

"Seven help me, Kyren, if I find that you've set up in some Flea Bottom brothel…" Jaime threatened, unsure of the cause of his rage, but certain of its need to be expressed.

Kyren's face went pale under her tan and her strange eyes cooled noticeably. "I must go to Arya now, Ser Jaime. She will have expected me before now and I cannot keep her waiting."

Jaime watched, astounded at her daring, as the girl stormed away from him. Shortly after, he turned a different direction. It seemed he had a City Watch captain to interview.

* * *

The sun had already begun to set when Kyren finally left the Red Keep, and she was forced to hurry her way through the winding streets. She was expected to be at Dyser's and ready for trouble by full dark and the trip was lengthy.

"Tardy again, girl?" a cultured voice asked from a nearby doorway.

Kyren tensed. She had done her best to avoid the man - most women of Flea Bottom did and had warned her to do the same - but he seemed to be everywhere. "Unfortunately so, Lord Baelish."

"You should look at your betters when addressing them, girl."

Biting back her reflexive scoff, Kyren bowed her head and swiveled in place, booted feet making no noise on the chipped stone of the street. "I must continue on my way, Lord Baelish."

Undaunted, the slender man moved forward until he was within arm's range. He reached for her chin, but Kyren jerked her head upward in time to avoid the touch. Baelish smirked softly as though she had fulfilled an expectation of his. "Such a pity that you are not beautiful. I could make quite the profit from you otherwise."

Before she could fight once more to hold back an ill thought-out retort, Kyren found it spilling from her lips. "Such a pity you are a Lord. I would have gutted you thrice over otherwise."

Rather than appearing fearful as Kyren had hoped, Baelish's treacherous face broke into an appreciative smile. "And you have fire as well. I may find a way to make use of you yet."

Kyren kept her face in its fiercest expression rather than allow a hint of fear at the veiled threat. "I can gladly disclose that, should you attempt such a thing, death will visit King's Landing."

"He and I have met on several occasions, but he seems not to care to take my life. Yours would seem quite the reward for him," he countered.

"I am well aware of your willingness to perform immoral deeds, Lord Baelish," Kyren said calmly, acknowledging his more overt threat. "Tales of your deeds spread rapidly through Flea Bottom."

Baelish's smiling mouth opened once more, but Kyren was already moving away, striving to find a balance between refusing to listen to the man and still being ready for an attack should he approach her from behind. It would be rather unlike the sophisticated brothel-keeper to dirty his hands with kidnapping, but Kyren deeply mistrusted the man and would not dismiss her own instincts.

Nevertheless, she made it into the safety of Dyser's unaccosted and in time to 'escort' a guest from the property. Fortunately, Kyren was gaining a reputation among the patrons and few would risk her wrath. Most were more than happy to leave when requested to do so.

On her way back through the tavern, Tarik caught Kyren's eye and handed her a pastry and a tankard of ale. "You look like you've just been chased through Flea Bottom by a White Walker. Sit down a minute and I will ensure everyone behaves."

"I could only wish it had been a White Walker," Kyren grumbled into the mug, sitting on a chair in the darkest corner of the tavern.

"Baelish again?" Tarik asked sympathetically. Kyren made no response, refusing to burden the man with her problems. She had yet to discover just how Tarik had found out about Baelish's determination, but it was unimportant. "I've told you ten times: rough him up the way you do the troublemakers here and he will most certainly leave you alone."

"You know I cannot," Kyren argued. "If I want to earn a legitimate wage anywhere in Westeros, I cannot anger someone who wields such influence."

"Fuck his influence," Tarik responded succinctly. "He don't have so much influence that it'll matter when he's dead."

"I cannot kill him!" she denied, utterly shocked at the idea.

"Why not? Rich man like him, spending so much time in Flea Bottom? No one'd bat an eye, love. Think most of 'em expect something like that to happen, really. You would be doing all of us a favor." Tarik rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment before moving off through the crowded tavern.

Rather than parse through her thoughts, Kyren finished the pastry - one of many Tarik was wont to bring her when he recognized her weariness - and drained the tankard of ale. Rather than leave it on the table for later collection, Kyren opted to return it to the kitchen herself.

Inside the small room, Mellina was working hard. She was a wizened old woman, bent in stature from the weight of her many years, but her gnarled hands were capable of utter magic in the food she made for the tavern's patrons. As Kyren stepped into the overly-warm room, Mellina turned to survey her with clouded eyes that still held the sharp glint of intelligence.

"You look frightened."

Kyren gritted her teeth. Would no one leave her be? "I most certainly am not."

"Of course you are, girl, and there is only one thing I've seen shake you so badly. What was Lord Baelish attempting this evening?"

"His usual antics, naturally, though he is growing more overt in his threats." Mellina grumbled noncommittally and returned to her cooking. Feeling emboldened by the lack of supervision, Kyren admitted, "Tarik says I should kill him."

Mellina turned to Kyren once more, mouth stretched in a cackling laugh that showed off each of the few yellowing teeth she still possessed. "The boy lacks subtlety, but he makes a fair point. Why do you not solve the problem and be done with it?"

Kyren sighed. "I cannot. Baelish is horrible, but I am sworn to protect the people of Westeros. Killing in defense of another - or even myself - is acceptable, but murder in cold blood is beyond the range of my morals."

"Seems as though you find yourself facing quite the dilemma," Mellina said blandly, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. "Best make a decision, though, and soon. Baelish always gets what he wants. If he wants you, for whatever reason, he will get you in the end. One way or another..."

Fighting a feeling of discomfiture and foreboding, Kyren returned to the main room of the tavern. If she handled the patrons in a slightly more violent manner than usual, no one mentioned it to her.

* * *

Author's Note \- Late again, guys, sorry. I've been pretty sick lately and I'm trying to spend every free moment sleeping. Unfortunately, I have bad news to add to that apology: I will be gone for the next several weeks as I will be traveling and have no access to the internet. My apologies. This will unfortunately be the last chapter posted until my return somewhere around mid/late September. Drop a review and I'll message a more exact date when I have one. Thank you to my 'guest' reviewer! I'm sorry there was no way to message you on an update time.

That should be it for the week, folks! Thanks for reading, leave some feedback, and have a lovely day. See you soon!


	12. Chapter Eleven

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, plots, characters, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Kyren's breath came fast and faster, the sound muffled but harsh in the cloth sack that had been pushed roughly over her head. Internally, she cursed not only her kidnappers but herself. She knew better than to believe that she would be safe in the daylight.

She had only just departed Dyser's for the castle - long before any of the Dyser family had risen for the day and equally long before any of the Stark family would think to watch for her arrival. In short, no one would know to search for her until it was far too late. Kyren could depend only on herself, and her arms were firmly bound behind her torso. Sending up a silent prayer that her legs had retained their flexibility despite her lack of regular training, Kyren settled for biding her time until an opportunity presented itself.

Soon enough, she sensed movement in her surroundings and the sack was pulled from her head. To her horror, as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light pouring through a series of tall, narrow windows, she found Lord Petyr Baelish staring smugly down at her. Kyren braced as little as she could against the chair to which she was bound before lifting her leg and kicking Baelish square in the chest.

The look of pained shock he wore was one Kyren would treasure for the entirety of her life, however short it was to be now. The lord stumbled back, gasping for breath and clutching at the spot her foot had struck. While he did so, Kyren tugged sharply at her bonds, managing to free one wrist and began working at the other even as she eyed Baelish warily.

Someone grasped Kyren's throat from behind, squeezing until she could no longer prevent her free hand from flying to the obstruction. Baelish stalked closer, fire in his eyes. "You are fortunate that your presence here is not for my benefit. You would pay dearly for such impertinence."

Kyren would have asked what he meant, but her entire being was focused on the normally-simple process of breathing. He did not seem to despise her silence, however. He tugged a strand of her hair forward, caressing it over and over with nimble fingers. "You remind me so strongly of her. Do not believe it will save you from the consequences should you ever attempt such a thing again."

Baelish unbound her other hand before nodding sharply at the person behind Kyren. She was abruptly released, the enforcer withdrawing from the room while Kyren hunched over her recently-freed wrist and attempted to regain her breath. Baelish smiled at her, seeming for all the world as if the events of the last several minutes had never occurred. "I suspect I have a surprise for you, Kyren Asheworth."

Abruptly grateful for her loose hair, Kyren hid behind the red curtain as she fought not to react in a visible way. She was not stunned that the treacherous lord had managed to discover her identity, though she had hoped he would be stymied for a greater length of time. However, all mental trails of curiosity and dread came to an abrupt halt when the door opened once more.

A familiar, blue-eyed face watched Kyren from the depths of a hood, a hint of confusion painted across the visage. "Lady Stark?"

Lady Stark allowed the hood to droop back from her head, revealing flaming hair and a warm smile. "Have I surprised you?" she asked pleasantly.

"Yes, but only in the most wonderful way," Kyren effused, thinking back to the terrifying moment in which she realized that she had been taken by Lord Baelish. "But whatever are you doing in King's Landing?"

"I needed to speak with Lord Stark," Lady Stark explained, adopting a grave tone and expression. "My visit here must remain a secret. You have proven reliable - aside from a few recent instances - and I decided my presence here could be disclosed to you."

Kyren nodded, but remained silent, sensing that Lady Stark had more to say.

"I wished to discuss the incident at the Crossroads Inn. You swore an oath to protect my daughters and yet you were nowhere to be found. Your absence put Sansa in a terrible position, asked to speak against the prince or betray her own sister."

"I hardly see how my presence could have solved anything, my lady," Kyren argued as respectfully as possible. "My testimony would not have been considered and Sansa would have been left in much the same position."

Lady Stark sighed. "Do you truly believe that Prince Joffrey would have acted in such a way if there had been another to witness his cruelty? In any case, he is not known for his wisdom or his mercy. Arya or even Sansa could have been injured or killed had the situation unfolded only slightly differently."

"I apologize, my lady, but I was injured on the journey-"

"Yes, I have been well-informed of your injury," Lady Stark interrupted. "You swore to protect my daughters and yet you were elsewhere, more focused on furthering your relationship with a knight - a _Lannister_ , no less - than guarding them."

"I promise you, Lady Stark, I sought only to gain skill, nothing less than moral," Kyren hastened to explain, a blush staining her cheeks.

"I never thought otherwise, Kyren, but you sought a relationship with Jaime Lannister. Regardless of whether it was untoward, your focus was on yourself rather than my daughters."

Kyren had to swallow a reflexive retort. Lady Stark was correct, and there was nothing to be done for it. "I can but apologize once more, my lady. I assure you, from this moment forward, Sansa and Arya will be the sole focus of my attention."

"And you intend to guard them from this distance? Even walking with purpose, we are a fair distance from the Red Keep," Lady Stark noted pointedly.

She wanted to tell the noblewoman about her near-constant treks to the Red Keep, of all the instances in which she had foregone sleep in order to retain both her accommodations and the safety of the Starks, but Kyren knew it would be of little use. She aspired to a life in which she would be required to set aside her own comfort and desires in order to fulfill a task, and she had promised to fulfill this one. "I was informed that I am not welcome to stay in the Red Keep proper," she said carefully.

Lady Stark lifted a brow. "Yes, I heard of your spat with the castle steward. I also was informed that you were offered quarters by Jaime Lannister himself."

Privately, Kyren decided that she would be sick if she heard Jaime Lannister's name once more. "I was told I could find a place in the cellars, along with the maids and whores of the Keep."

"And you, a Northern orphan without family or fortune, believed yourself too important to stay in such a place?" Kyren dropped her gaze, blushing hotly. Lady Stark softened her voice as she continued with, "I understand it is jarring to move from a place of relative comfort to one in which you are regarded as unfortunate at best, but you must resign yourself to worse if you hope for eventual knighthood."

It was unsettling to hear such harshly truthful words from Lady Stark, but it was far worse for Kyren to look past the stern, red-headed woman and see Lord Baelish smirking behind her. Determined to ignore the man, Kyren nodded obediently.

"I will create an excuse to move back into the Red Keep as soon as I am able, today if I can manage it," she promised.

Lady Stark nodded, gesturing to Baelish. "My friend Petyr has used his connections to secure accommodations inside the Red Keep. He will explain them to you. I must ready Ser Rodrik for our departure. Go well, Kyren Asheworth, and remember your oath."

Then she was gone, leaving Kyren with Lord Petyr Baelish. "You are familiar with Lady Stark, then?" Kyren asked in an attempt to fill the ringing silence.

Baelish nodded. "I fostered at Riverrun with the Tullys when I was a boy."

"I see," Kyren said slowly. "And have you loved her for an equal length of time?"

He retained his smirking expression, but Kyren watched as the ever-present smug humor faded from his grey-green eyes. "Who told you such a thing?"

"No one told me. It is as plain to see as your revolting moustache."

"Do you truly deem it wise to say such things to me?" Baelish asked with a smile under said moustache.

Kyren shrugged. "We are both well aware of our mutual enmity. It seems rather pointless to feign a sudden respect and admiration."

His eyes gleamed sharply at her. "I must warn you: I am a rather dangerous enemy."

"I fear you would be an equally dangerous ally," Kyren countered, reluctantly adding, "However, if for no reason other than the safety of House Stark, we must attempt to work together."

Baelish inclined his head, stepping to one of the narrow windows lining the exterior wall. "Wise," he remarked blandly, gazing down at the street outside. "My contact will meet you in the cellars of the Red Keep. It would be prudent for you to give as few details about the acquisition of the room as possible. We would not want too many questions."

Kyren agreed without protests, pushing back a shiver at the sort of suppositions likely to be made if it was discovered that Lord Baelish had reserved her private quarters.

* * *

It was with a deep sense of dread that Kyren returned to Dyser's. It may not have been the sort of life anyone would have approved for her, but Kyren had eked out this little existence on her own and had strongly envisioned herself continuing in her new-found routines. Saying goodbye to the Dyser family and the life she had started in their tavern was sure to be one of the least pleasant experiences of Kyren's life thus far.

Despite the somewhat early hour, she found all three members of the Dyser family standing in the middle of the empty tavern, breaking off their conversation to watch her entrance. Seeing Bracks in the tavern was an odd sight, but then, an empty Dyser's was a shock to Kyren's senses as well.

Tarik was the first to react to Kyren's presence, tossing her a clumsily-wrapped hunk of bread smeared with soft cheese. Kyren caught it easily, but favored fiddling with the paper rather than begin eating. "I apologize for the interruption, but I must tender my resignation, effective immediately."

Shana surveyed her with coolly-amused eyes. "Your timing is convenient, no? Bracks has just told me he is ready to return to nightly duties. Better you quit than be forced out."

Kyren nodded, but made no other reply. Retreating to her small quarters, she began gathering her few belongings. It was only when she heard his voice from the doorway that Kyren realized Tarik had followed her.

"Wait, please." He stepped into the room after she gave an approving nod, and rushed to take her hand in his own. "Kyren, did someone tell you about Bracks's return? If you are truly leaving because you believe you have no place here, put that aside. I believe Mother was nearly convinced to keep you on as extra help for the tavern…"

"As grateful as I am for that, Tarik, I am afraid I have no choice but to leave," Kyren said gently, apologetically withdrawing her hand from his. "I have commitments elsewhere - as I have been recently reminded - and I have shirked them for far too long."

"Hang your commitments," he argued, normally-wicked blue eyes pleading. "You are happy here, despite the weariness brought on by your late hours. I would wager your 'commitments' do not create happiness and that is the very reason you shirk them. Can you truly argue otherwise, love?"

Kyren sighed. "It is not my happiness that decides where I must go. I vowed to perform a task and I have no choice but to do so. I am sorry, Tarik. Would that I could remain here…" she trailed off, shaking her head regretfully.

"I understand," Tarik said stiffly. "Go honor your vows, then. I hope the satisfaction of fulfilling your promises is enough to dispel the emptiness inside of you one day."

Wincing at the harsh tone from one she had regarded as a friend, Kyren retrieved the last of her belongings and left. Tarik did not follow as she descended the narrow staircase, but Shana and Bracks still stood in the empty expanse of Dyser's front room. Kyren would have moved through the tavern without another word, but Bracks planted his large frame in her path and stared down at her until she lifted her gaze to meet his.

"I thank you for protecting my family while I was unable to do so. It will not be forgotten."

Kyren nodded, silently accepting his promise and he nodded in return, striding away and into the kitchen. The room fell into an echoing stillness after his departure, but Shana spoke before Kyren could make another attempt at leaving.

"I am not pleased to see you leave, but I am grateful we had you protecting us these few weeks. I know of all that you do here, things I have never asked, but they needed done and you met those needs. I would pay you if I could, but I cannot. Instead, I offer you this: if your situation at that castle ever becomes dire, you may shelter here." Kyren had to fight to keep the shock from her face, but something must have shown through as Shana laughed. "Yes, I know where you venture every day, and I know where you plan to go now. I also know the sort of people you will discover there, and hope you will remember my offer should you need it."

"Thank you, Shana," Kyren said sincerely. "I will be on guard for treachery."

"And I will alert you if I hear a single murmur of something amiss," Shana agreed.

"How will you hear something before I do?" the young warrior asked, her tone holding far less challenge than her words.

"Have you yet been told of Lord Varys and his 'little birds'?"

Kyren frowned. "I have met Lord Varys, but I know little about him."

Shana motioned for her to sit on one of the battered benches lining a rough-hewn table. "Lord Varys is responsible for discovering information for the king. He does this through a system of his 'little birds', a collection of street children he has recruited for the cause. When I first opened my tavern, Varys recruited Tarik as one of his birds."

"Tarik?" Kyren asked, disbelievingly. The boy was so loud, so exuberant, that recruiting him to discover and report sensitive information seemed unwise in the extreme.

Humming in confirmation, Shana soon sent a grin in Kyren's direction. "Naturally, with Tarik so lacking in subtlety, I soon discovered what was happening and took action."

Kyren laughed. "And what was Lord Varys's reaction to losing one of his birds?"

"Oh, he lost nothing," Shana said. "I simply searched out the other little birds, found out how Varys was compensating them, and promised them the same for information I wanted. I care little for the events of court, but I did ask for anything they heard about Flea Bottom or Dyser's in particular. When one of them heard something, they would report to me and receive two sweets: one for the information and one for keeping our deal from Varys."

"Clever of you," Kyren remarked admiringly.

"My dear girl, one does not own a tavern in Flea Bottom without as much assistance as possible." She tucked a strand of dark hair behind an ear and continued, "I keep the connection even today and will add your name to the list of subjects I wish to remain informed about."

"Thank you, Shana," was Kyren's grateful response, followed shortly by a sheepish, "I was under the impression that you did not care for me."

Shana scoffed. "I would never have hired you on if I did not believe you were worthy of both the task and my attention." She shifted restlessly on the bench. "In the vein of your continued safety, I must warn you that Lord Eddard Stark has been asking many uncomfortable questions of King's Landing. He is making quite the name for doing so and it could lead to trouble."

Kyren nodded gravely and Shana mirrored the gesture. "Take care, tread lightly, and remember that you may always return to safety here."

With a sad smile, Kyren admitted, "I find myself sad to leave. Dyser's has been good to me."

"You cannot go yet!" Mellina proclaimed loudly, bustling out of the kitchen with a rough-formed bowl covered by a cloth. "Not without this, anyway. Here, take it with you."

Kyren peeked under the cloth, frowning as a thick, sweet smell filled the still air inside the tavern. "What is it?"

"Rum cake," both women answered simultaneously, Mellina's voice filled with glee while Shana sounded wryly amused.

"Apologies, Mellina, but I never much cared for rum," Kyren said politely.

"Ain't for you, girl! Take it to the Kingslayer. One taste and he will decide he's got no choice but to find me!" she stomped away cackling, but turned back to address Kyren directly. "Take care o' yerself, girl. The people at that castle ain't nice like us Flea Bottom folk."

"I should hope not," Kyren said under her breath, earning a smile from Shana.

Mellina waved a bony finger at her. "Now, we may slit your throat, true enough, but them lovely lords 'n' ladies at the Red Keep will do the same and smile through it all. And you have too much damnedable honor."

As the old woman retreated back to the warmth of her kitchen, Shana eyed Kyren, watching the younger girl gathering her belongings. "She is right, you know. Your honor is not worth your life. Be careful and protect yourself in any way necessary."

"Thank you, Shana," Kyren said a final time. "For everything."

With that, she departed from the same doorway through which she had escorted unnumbered patrons, gaze set firmly on the imposing walls of the Red Keep.

* * *

"Tired of the slums?" one guard mocked lightly, catching Jaime's ear. Whoever was at the gates, it was inappropriate for any guard to behave in such a manner. He would have thought they would avoid doing any similar thing considering the way he had reprimanded them after witnessing Kyren's visit.

"Or were you asked to leave where you were staying?" another guard joined in as Jaime fought not to roll his eyes. Such an action was beneath his level of breeding, as he had been informed many times - even if the irritatingly-casual guards seemed to warrant the behavior.

"Maybe she is only tired," a third guard interjected. "She always keeps the strangest hours."

"In truth, I _am_ tired," an oddly-familiar voice confirmed. "This has been an extremely long day and I would very much like to enter…"

"I am not certain you are allowed," the second man teased. "You have been so long in the company of commoners, you are beginning to look like one."

"I am a commoner, Elras," she replied, and Jaime was close enough now to appreciate the bite in her voice. "And yet I am most certainly allowed inside. Now, may I pass or shall I call Eyan? I know he would have much to add to this conversation."

"Go on in, then, but be careful," Elras warned, opening the gate slowly. "If you unleash that tongue of yours on any unsuspecting royals, we will have to remove you."

Kyren laughed sarcastically, rounding the corner and bumping quite literally into Jaime. She paused, glancing up at him before her eyes widened and she jumped backward as if she had been burned by the contact. "Ser Jaime! I am sorry, my eyes were not on my path."

"Quite all right," he dismissed. "Did I hear correctly that you have returned to the Red Keep for a more permanent stay?"

Her fair cheeks flamed, the slight tan she had gained over her stay in the capital city proving insufficient in disguising her blush. "Yes, I believe you have heard correctly. Assuming, of course, that none object?"

She glanced around the halls with only a hint of exaggeration. The girl seemed almost hopeful that someone - likely Hayard - would appear and order her back through the gates. Not that Jaime would allow any such thing. Suddenly irked by her reluctance to live in the most opulent dwelling in King's Landing, Jaime grasped her elbow and began moving down the main hall as he spoke.

"I presume you still refuse to disclose the exact location of your stay these past weeks?" Jaime asked, though his tone made it less of a query and more of a resigned supposition. Kyren simply continued staring straight ahead, witch's eyes studying the corridor in far greater detail than was necessary. Question answered, Jaime sighed and offered, "Regardless, I am pleased to see you in safe society once more."

She scoffed softly, but her gaze sharpened as she stopped to offer him a bowl. Jaime accepted the ill-formed pottery without much thought, but found himself staring down at it in silent confusion.

"It is a gift," the girl told him.

He lifted the cloth covering the bowl's mouth and frowned at what he found inside. "You… baked cakes for me?"

"I beg your- No! They are an offering from an admirer outside the walls."

"I see." Lips twitching at the offense in her voice, Jaime gave a grave nod and stopped a servant passing in the opposite direction. "Dispose of this, would you? However you like."

"You cannot! Mell- They were made special for you as a gift!"

Jaime eyed the girl curiously. Her round face seemed sincere, but there were risks… "And how am I to be sure they were not poisoned?"

Kyren huffed impatiently. "Why in the name of the Seven would a commoner wish to poison you? I would have you know that the woman who made those cakes finds you to be quite an attractive man. That is her sole reasoning and I was asked to deliver them to you. She would be heartbroken to learn that you had disposed of them without even a thought!"

"Fine," Jaime agreed, accepting the bowl from the servant once more. "You shall try them first. I will not be poisoned because some urchin took advantage of your soft heart."

With that, he had reached into the bowl, pinched off a section of a cake, and held it toward her. Kyren took a step backward, hands raised to ward him off. "Truly, Ser Jaime, I do not enjoy rum-"

"If you do not taste it, I shall be forced to dispose of it after all," he threatened.

The acquiescence filled her eyes before she could begin to speak, though she agreed regardless. "Very well, I-"

In a meanly childish trick, Jaime took advantage of her open mouth to push the cake past her lips. Those odd eyes widened in shock and her mouth closed reflexively, her lips brushing his fingertips. As Jaime pulled away, she chewed exaggeratedly and swallowed the morsel of cake.

"Are you satisfied? There is no poison."

Her sharp words brought Jaime back to himself, realizing with a start that he had been staring at her mouth with open fascination. And then to hear those lips speaking of satisfaction… He wanted her, Jaime realized with a start. He wanted her badly, the feeling as strong as it was abrupt. But was it truly so sudden an impulse? With a growing sense of unease, Jaime mused over the last months he had known her, puzzling at the growing warmth of his regard for her.

"Ser Jaime?" Kyren asked hesitantly.

Jaime focused his mind on ending the interaction with the girl, forcing a smile. "Of course there is no poison. I was merely attempting to force your admittance that you do indeed enjoy rum."

She gave a reluctant smile. "I will freely admit that the taste was not as off-putting as I had feared. I almost enjoyed it."

The inadvertent double-entendre landed like a blow to Jaime's stomach… and awakened lower things. _Get ahold of yourself, man,_ he ordered internally. _You are a chain and a set of hideous robes away from becoming Paecelle._

The girl was of marrying age - past it by several years, in fact - but she was so young, so unknowing of the ways of the world. Gods, she likely even believed that Jaime himself was worthy of trust and admiration! He rightly should say something off-color, if only to be sure she did not lower her guard overly much, but Jaime found himself giving her a warm smile.

"Thank you for your brave service, my noble taster," he said with a shallow bow. "I may now be secure in the knowledge that these… er, rum cakes are indeed safe for my consumption."

Kyren watched him with confused curiosity as he tucked the bowl more securely under his arm. "Pleased to hear so, Ser," she said eventually. "If you enjoy them, I am certain I could get word to the baker. She would be pleased to hear that they were faithfully delivered."

"Hmm… Perhaps a conversation for a later date," Jaime returned, seeking any opportunity to leave. There were certain questions he needed to answer and it would be far easier to do so without the distraction of her presence.

"As you will," she agreed with a bow of her own.

Rather than fixate on the grace of the gesture, Jaime turned and began marching rapidly in the opposite direction. He required nothing from that particular section of the Keep, but it offered the solitude he so craved. "Do find me if you run into any issues," he ordered over his shoulder. "Hayard lurks about still."

If she made a response, it was lost to the echoes of the hall. Idly, Jaime pinched off a section of cake and ate it. _Rather good after all. To think I'd never truly cared for rum…_

* * *

Author's Note \- And we're back! I've missed you guys and I owe big thanks to everyone who continued to read, follow, and favorite _The Worth of Ash_ while I was gone. It was a lovely trip, but I'm ready to get back into the swing of things.

First order of business, thank you to my two reviewers! QuirkyMurderSubject, sorry this update is coming later than you hoped (and I estimated)! And WickedGreene13... You beautiful human being. You review every single chapter, say all these nice things, but don't have your PM feature turned on so I can thank you in person?! It's been killing me! Thank you for so many kind words!

Secondly, let me start off by saying that I don't like to reveal too much of my personal life on this site, but I think this is necessary. I recently got moved from part-time to full-time employment and I don't have much time to write anymore. I love writing - it's my passion! - but I don't have enough time to keep posting a chapter every week without the quality declining. I would like to propose a change in updating, and it comes with a choice for all of you: Would you prefer to have me post five chapters, (one every week for five weeks) with a two-week gap in the middle; or ten chapters (one every week for ten weeks) with a month-long gap in the middle? Ideally, I would keep posting blocks like that until the story is complete. Up to you guys! I won't ask you to leave your answer in reviews, so I'm opening a poll on my profile and I'll leave it open for a week or two. Let me know what you think!

That should be it for today, so thank you for reading! Leave a review if you can, have a wonderful day, and I'll see you next week!


	13. Chapter Twelve

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the exclusive property of George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

 _ **WARNING, PLEASE READ:**_ While I do not write anything even approaching lemons, this chapter will contain some adult scenarios with more than friendly touching. If this makes you uncomfortable, please leave this chapter, send me a PM, and I'll tell you what you missed. Thank you and enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Twelve

As much as she despised admitting such a thing, Lord Baelish had delivered on his promise of a private room for Kyren. To be sure, it was a small room - Kyren possessed a secret belief that it had been a closet in the not-too-distant past - and had only a small cot by way of furnishing, but it was her own. She was near to the handmaidens without being attached to their main room, and there was not a whore in sight. At least, not one who made a career of it.

Several of the handmaidens had been kind, making a special effort to welcome Kyren, but others had been far less friendly. One of the nicer girls had warned Kyren that most of the staff reported directly to Queen Cersei or Lord Varys and both seemed to have taken an interest in the orphan girl. And so, whenever possible, Kyren fled the lower levels of the Red Keep in favor of spending time in Arya's company or that of Septa Mordane. Of course, the latter was a more difficult prospect in that Sansa had apparently joined her mother in blaming Kyren for the trouble at the Crossroads Inn and had thus banned Kyren from her presence.

Regardless, Kyren enjoyed quite a bit of time in exploring the Keep with Arya. The dark-haired Stark girl had cheered up considerably after Lord Stark had decided to gift her with dancing lessons. Kyren would never have believed that Arya would enjoy something so obviously feminine, but her changes in mood were impossible to ignore.

It was on a slow afternoon in the chambers allotted to the Stark family that Kyren was finally introduced to Arya's dancing instructor. The girls had been lying on one of the richly-hued carpets, staring up at the light stone that made up the ceiling above them and listing all of the things they missed about the north - and Winterfell in particular.

"I miss the quiet," Kyren volunteered.

"The wind," Arya countered.

"The Godswood."

"The kindness of the people."

"The cold."

"The food."

"The sound of wolves howling at night."

An awkward hush fell over the pair as Kyren regretted her last words. Arya was far more cheerful now than she had been upon their arrival at King's Landing, but there was still a sadness behind her grey eyes that brought a pang to Kyren's chest. The loss of her friend Mycah had struck a deep blow, but the loss of Nymeria was yet another source of grief. Kyren wished to apologize for her thoughtless reference to wolves and - in turn - the unknown fate of Arya's direwolf, but she feared such an apology would only put more fine a point on the pain.

"The way nothing smelled as bad as it does here," Arya said bluntly, and the girls dissolved into laughter.

"Such joy!" an accented voice said from the doorway. "You must explain the joke to me."

Kyren sat up quickly, but she still responded more slowly than Arya, who had jumped immediately to her feet. With a slight bow, she made introductions.

"Kyren, this is Syrio Forel, my dance master. Master Forel, this is Kyren Asheworth, an orphan ward of my father's."

Kyren bowed to Master Forel as he did the same, noticing upon rising the sword strapped to his belt. "I beg your pardon, but may I ask why you carry a wooden sword?"

The dark-haired man glanced down at the hilt and back to Kyren with a widening smile. "If wielded properly, a wooden sword can be nearly as effective as one made of steel."

"I will accede to your expertise in the matter," Kyren said politely, though she could not refrain from adding, "As well as to why a master of dance would feel so inclined as to wear either type of sword inside the walls of the Red Keep."

Master Forel laughed and it was a rich sound. "Either you underestimate the aristocracy of King's Landing or I do, Kyren Asheworth. I feel it is best to be prepared for all situations."

"An interesting philosophy, to be sure," Kyren responded. "I would be quite interested to learn how it would be applied to dance. Might I stay and observe a lesson?"

"I am sorry, but I cannot allow observers," Master Forel said kindly. Kyren nodded her acceptance, but Arya seemed inclined to argue.

"I don't mind if she stays," Arya insisted. "I watched many of Kyren's lessons at Winterfell."

"Ah, but I am the instructor and you are the student," Master Forel returned. "My permission is needed for your friend to stay, and I am of the firm belief that students learn more readily when they are not concerned with who may be watching."

Arya frowned, dark brows drawing together, but Kyren intervened before she could continue bickering. "It is fine, Arya. I likely have other matters to which I must attend. Enjoy your lesson, and it was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Master Forel."

"Yours as well, Kyren Asheworth," the man said with a bow.

"Will I see you afterward, Kyren?" Arya called.

"I am certain," Kyren assured her with a smile.

The moment she stepped from the doorway of the Stark quarters, however, the smile dropped from Kyren's face. She now found herself at an utter loss for diversion. Sansa was with Septa Mordane, Lord Stark was busy attending to Hand's business in King's Landing, and Kyren had formed no friendships close enough with the handmaidens that she would feel comfortable suggesting they spend time together.

There was a rather obvious solution to her lack of plans: Kyren had been feeling guilty of late when she thought over her lack of training since the party had arrived at King's Landing.

 _Only your lack of training?_ a wicked little voice asked inside of her mind. _Perhaps you feel guilty because you know it is time to move on. Or had you set aside your goal to protect Westeros for sake of becoming nurse to the Stark girls? You cling to the comfort of what is known to you rather than face the fear of the mysterious… Or perhaps your guilt stems from those feelings for Ser Jaime you constantly deny? When the queen mentioned marriage, stupid girl, she by no means meant to wed you to her brother._

Kyren shook off the thoughts, frowning all the while. She needed to find Ser Jaime - not because of the warmth he caused in her stomach, but because he was her best hope of training to survive. _Before the month is out,_ she promised herself, _I will be journeying Westeros._

* * *

Jaime dragged his forearm across his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow before it could trickle dangerously into his eyes. He had been training with a fervor he could not explain, even to himself, but it was effective; he felt more in form than he had in many years. He needed only a proper opponent now.

"Ser Jaime?" a smooth voice asked from behind him, and Jaime bit back a groan. He had brought the girl upon himself with his desire for an opponent, but it still seemed a cruel trick to bring her here.

"Kyren," he greeted without turning. "I have not heard from you of late."

In truth, Jaime had been avoiding her as he sought to resolve his strange feelings where she was concerned, a fact she had not missed if he judged by her wry laugh. "You have been a difficult man to find."

"And yet, found me you have. How may I be of service?" Jaime finally gathered the will to face her and was taken aback to watch her eyes flick up to his face only after a long moment had passed. His brows shot skyward. Had she been eying the muscles of his back… or perchance, even lower?

Despite his disbelief, her reddened visage seemed to support the conclusion, as did her slight struggle to begin speaking. "I- I thought only to search you out and ask if we could begin training once more, but I see you are already occupied. I apologize for the interruption."

She moved as if to exit the training yard, but halted at his voice. "Kyren. I will gladly train with you. It has been far too long."

Kyren turned back, uncertainty painted across her round face even as Jaime fought back a wolfish grin. If he was reading the signs correctly, the girl was attracted to him - and that was a circumstance with which he was well-acquainted.

Casually, he tossed out, "I must admit, I am shocked to find that a girl of sixteen has no better plans for a day in the capital of Westeros than to seek out the company of an old man."

Her parchment eyes shone in annoyance. "You are hardly the wizened husk you name yourself. Though you seem to have forgotten my name-day, so perhaps your once-sharp memory is beginning to fade…"

"You've had a name-day?" Jaime asked with scarcely-pretended shock. "When?"

"Just before we left Winterfell," Kyren said dismissively. "Seventeen is hardly something to be celebrated in my circumstances, so I suppose with the lack of festivities, you may be excused for overlooking it."

"My apologies nonetheless," he said with a bow.

"It is of no consequence," she assured. "By virtue of helping me train, you have more than earned a slip or two."

He chuckled, passing her a dulled practice sword, one considerably heavier than what she had become accustomed to on their journey to King's Landing. As a result, their sparring was short-lived. When he had disarmed her and Kyren stood, panting in exhaustion and massaging her tender biceps, he shook his head.

"I would ask if you had practiced since our arrival here, but it is apparent that you have not. You cannot allow yourself to slide so far backward in your training. You will need to work much harder if you want to achieve your goals." He was not lying, but his words were considerably more harsh than necessary. He would need her too irritated to think when he issued his challenge: "I hope your grappling has fared considerably better."

She paused for a moment and Jaime feared he had overplayed his hand, but her mouth tipped into an intriguing little smile. "My grappling is likely the best it has ever been, Ser."

He stared at her, wondering if this was a veiled reference to wherever she had spent her time since their arrival in the city, but he shook the thoughts from his mind. There were more important things at stake; namely, discovering her true feelings toward him. "If that is so, I will not pull my strength for our session."

Her witch's eyes flashed in amusement. "I am glad to hear it, Ser. Shall we?"

That had been far easier than Jaime had assumed. With the practice blades set carefully away, the pair circled in the muddy yard. Straw had been tossed around in an effort to soak up some of the muck, but it had served only to add texture.

He had intended to allow Kyren the first move, but when she only stood back and eyed him warily, Jaime ducked in as lowly as he could and attempted to grab her breeches-clad leg. In a smooth motion, she grasped his arm, forced it up, and delivered several quick blows to his ribs. By the time he realized what had happened, she had moved away once more and Jaime was left gasping at the pain in his side.

Temper piqued, Jaime settled back into his stance and began circling in earnest, searching for even the slightest weakness in Kyren's form. Without warning, she dove at him, catching him around the middle and driving them both into the thick mud of the yard. Immediately after he landed, Jaime rolled to pin Kyren against the ground, but she wrapped both legs around him and levered him back to the mud once more, hands pinning his arms above his head. The move had her straddling his hips, staring a short distance down at him with the beginnings of heat on her face. _Interesting,_ Jaime smirked to himself.

"Yield," she ordered hoarsely.

Now Jaime's smirk was external as well. "When did you gain such skill in grappling?"

"Recently," she said simply. "Yield."

Instead, he leaned up, testing the strength of her hold on his arms. He raised them only barely before she slammed them down, but she had risen slightly to her knees in the attempt. As soon as his wrists made contact with the earth once more, she forced herself back down on his hips. Jaime let out a strangled groan at the feel of her soft heat, but when she glanced down at him quizzically, he pretended it had been a pained noise.

"You are much heavier than I expected."

It was a dangerous sentence - if Jaime was going from his admittedly limited experience of socially conversing with women - but Kyren seemed unbothered. "My apologies, Ser. Yield and I shall release you immediately."

Her offer was the opposite of what Jaime intended. Instead, he relaxed for a moment before bucking wildly underneath her, driving his hips upward until she rose slightly from the ground, then flipped to press Kyren's back against the ground, his hands pinning her wrists this time. As he had hoped, her legs had remained around his waist, feet crossed behind his back for leverage.

The resulting pressure and friction were potent - for himself as well as the girl, if Jaime was correctly interpreting her reddened cheeks and the wild shine in her strange eyes. He was nestled between her thighs, his weight holding her down. She squirmed upward and Jaime seized the excuse to drop his chest down to hers. Their faces were only inches apart when he gave a predatory grin.

"What were your plans for this circumstance?" he asked mockingly.

"I could headbutt you…" Kyren said challengingly. "Knock your teeth out."

Even as she said it, Kyren twisted her wrists and attempted to pull them out of Jaime's grip, but he stopped her with slightly more effort than he had expected would be necessary. When had she become so strong? Regardless, he took her rebellion as an invitation to press his body more firmly into hers, relishing in the feel of her soft bosom crushed against his chest and the way her breath caught as he drove his hips against her core.

He grinned still wider. "I applaud your escape attempt, but this still does not prevent you from headbutting me. How shall I try to control your head?" Jaime allowed his gaze to flutter from her forehead, down her nose, and to her slightly-opened mouth. He could feel her breathing change as he focused on her lips.

"Are- are you not going to ask me to yield?"

Jaime pretended to consider this for a moment. "I do not believe so. I find myself far too comfortable as we are."

Kyren's eyes, wide enough to turn their typical buff color to a tan so light it neared yellow, flicked to his mouth and her own lips parted slightly. Jamie felt his own lips quirk in response. Their faces were so close… it would take only the slightest move on either's part to close that gap…

"Ser Jaime! Urgent message from- oh. Excuse me, Ser. I meant no..."

From his vantage point, Jaime could see the color suffusing Kyren's cheeks as she pulled frantically at his grip on her wrists. Jaime, being the man he was, refused to rush for anyone. He eased his weight from the girl, releasing her hands and rising to his feet before offering assistance. Kyren ignored him, stumbling to her feet with flaming cheeks.

Jaime watched her with a smirk before turning to glare at the guard who had interrupted them. By happy coincidence, it appeared to be the same man who had given Kyren such trouble in entering the Red Keep when she had finally returned. "Ah… Elras, is it?"

Something of his look or the banked heat in Jaime's tone must have told the guard to tread carefully, for the man paled and seemed ready to flee. However, he gathered his nerve and straightened, saying in a mildly-cowed tone, "Apologies, Ser Jaime. The queen bade me deliver a rather urgent message and I have orders to avoid any delays in doing so."

"I see," Jaime said shortly. He turned to Kyren and gave his most flourishing bow. "My apologies, Kyren, we will be forced to cut short our training session. We have much work to do with your swordwork, but I am most impressed by your improvements in grappling. I trust I will see you soon?" She paused for a long moment before giving a reluctant nod. "Very well. Until then."

With a sharp gesture, Jaime silently ordered Elras to follow him from the training yards, leaving Kyren to her thoughts.

* * *

"Did you see that, Kyren?" Arya asked in a shrill voice, bouncing wildly in her seat.

"I most certainly did!" Kyren answered. "However did you guess he would be unseated so quickly?"

"His grip on the lance is too firm," the younger Stark girl replied, sounding for all the world as if it were the most obvious flaw in the entirety of the Hand's tourney. "You should grip a weapon firmly, but _too_ firm means that it cannot move if it is hit. It can only strike in one direction and if that direction is blocked, your weapon will be struck from your hand like it was from his."

Arya nodded at the unseated knight as she finished her explanation, seemingly unbothered by the copious amounts of blood seeping from the new wound on the man's shoulder. Kyren - though taken aback by the dispassionate understanding in Arya's voice - had to agree with her assessment. The young man was one of the knights she had spoken of with Ser Jaime, one who had gained his position by merit of his family's wealth rather than any true skill.

Immediately after thinking such a thing, Kyren berated herself internally. She had endeavored to avoid thinking of the Lannister knight since their training session several days prior. When she thought of him, a sweet ache started low in her stomach. It was uncomfortable, yet filled her veins with a heady fire that made her crave more. Worse yet, the feeling grew more intense on any of the myriad instances in which she saw Ser Jaime in passing and he offered one of his knowing grins. Kyren could not help but suspect that the knight knew how she felt. Coupled with the suspicion that he reveled in that knowledge, Kyren felt awkwardly exposed to him.

Arya's joyous scream from the stands beside Kyren made her start back into the present moment. As she glanced toward the dark-haired girl, Kyren caught the pale-eyed gaze of Sansa, in the process of shaking her head despairingly at Arya's exuberance. Sansa paused before moving her head back in the direction of the tourney, face settling into a cold expression. It was the most acknowledgment given by the eldest Stark girl since the incident at the Crossroads Inn.

"I fear I lost track of the action," Kyren remarked to Arya. "What happened?"

"That knight there," she explained, pointing at a swarthy man who had decisively won every joust in which he had participated, "just broke his second lance. He has no more marked with his family colors and he blames the other knight."

Kyren narrowed her eyes to better study the weapon of the contender. "He has tipped his lance in steel," she mused. It was not against any rule, yet it skirted the edge of dishonor.

"Truly?" Arya asked, fascinated by the possibilities. "That is a clever move."

"Perhaps so," someone behind the pair agreed, "but he has earned a powerful enemy. The darker knight is landed and holds considerably more power than his new nemesis. The newcomer may yet win the tourney, but at what cost?"

Kyren's jaw clenched before she could fight the motion. Baelish would note any reaction to his presence or words and use that knowledge against her if he could. His greenish eyes glinted at Kyren as if he could read her thoughts and she kept her face carefully blank.

Arya was unimpressed by the new arrival. "But if he wins the tourney, the prize money will give him power enough to protect himself from the other."

"Ah, but money does not necessarily equal power," Baelish debated. "There is little that may be done to protect a person if someone wishes fervently enough to harm them. Even the greatest protection - or the most powerful allies - can be countered if only one knows the proper direction from which to aim the attack."

Kyren watched Baelish as coolly as she could muster, but the man only returned with a close-lipped smile that managed to be threatening. Oblivious to all of this, Arya watched the continued tourney proceedings with interest.

"Kyren, I do believe you were needed in the castle," Baelish remarked off-handedly. "Ser Jaime was searching for you some time ago."

With effort, the red-headed girl managed to keep from reacting, but feared she had given some indication of discomfort as a smile bloomed across Baelish's face. The treacherous lord knew exactly where to strike.

Interested once more, Arya swiveled her head in their direction. "Ser Jaime? He will be jousting later today. What does he want from you, Kyren?"

Baelish grinned still more widely. "I imagine he wants a great many things from your Kyren, Lady Arya. At this particular moment, perhaps he finds himself in need of a squire?"

Kyren's cheeks bloomed - partially from embarrassment, partially from barely-suppressed rage. "Ser Jaime has many who would gladly perform the role of squire for this tourney. However, I will go search him out… unless Arya would rather I stay?"

To her shame, Kyren stared rather beseechingly at the young Stark girl, but Arya simply shook her head. "The next joust is not set to begin for quite some time. You can leave, Kyren. You will not be missing anything of significance."

"As you wish, my lady," Kyren said, rising to deliver a slight bow. Arya made a face at her formality, but smiled when Kyren winked at her. Baelish smiled as well, though the satisfaction in his eyes turned the expression into more of a smirk than anything more pleasant. Kyren glared fiercely at him when Arya turned to watch the last of the current joust, then stalked back toward the Red Keep proper.

The castle was some distance away, the most direct route requiring a jaunt through a long forest of tents holding many of the joust contestants. Kyren strode quickly through the crowded area, doing her utmost to avoid looking at the partially- or fully-unclothed men preparing for their turn before the crowds. Fortunately, none seemed inclined to stop Kyren and she fought her way through fairly quickly. She soon departed the thick camp of hopeful tourney contestants, yet she was not alone. In her path was Ser Jaime himself. Apparently in the middle of his own preparations, Ser Jaime wore a pair of tight breeches, worn leather boots, and little else.

"I beg your pardon, Ser," Kyren said stiffly, averting her eyes from the muscles of his bare chest as she attempted to step around him.

"Nonsense, no pardon is required. In truth, I have been asking about your whereabouts." Kyren made no attempt to answer and Ser Jaime frowned down at her. "Is something the matter?"

"No, Ser. How can I be of assistance?"

Hooking a long forefinger under her chin, the Lannister knight attempted to bring Kyren's gaze to meet his own, but she seized his wrist and pulled him away. She achieved her purpose, but promptly berated herself for making contact. That strange aching - having almost disappeared - roared back full-strength at the touch of her fingers over the tanned skin of his wrist.

In the midst of her personal misery, Kyren nearly missed his low command: "Kyren, look at me."

Kyren glanced up, her eyes meeting the clear emerald of his, then feigned a smile. If nothing else, a sudden surge of shyness would put Ser Jaime on his guard, encourage him to search for something amiss, and she wished fervently to avoid such a thing. "Apologies, Ser, but I fear I am rather ticklish there."

He did not believe her excuse, Kyren could see that much, but his expression lightened into something almost teasing. "I shall remember that for future grappling sessions. Are you leaving the tourney so early?"

"Unfortunately, Ser. I have duties elsewhere, as I have been reminded."

"Do you intend to return?"

Was she imagining the slight look of disappointment in his face? Forcing her mind back to the situation at hand, Kyren fought back an unpleasant smile at the realization that Baelish had lied in order to remove her from the tourney. At the quizzical lift of Ser Jaime's brow, Kyren shook herself back to the present.

"Most likely not, Ser." Deep in the back of her mind, Kyren knew that she could never serve as squire to the great Ser Jaime Lannister - helping him dress, holding his sword, assisting in mounting the horse, watching from the sidelines as he used his sword and lance to decisively overthrow his opponent - and not find herself far more emotionally attached than would ever be prudent. Pretending an assignment in the Red Keep seemed the easiest method of avoidance. It wasn't as if Baelish would allow her to return to the tourney with ease, regardless.

Ser Jaime sighed. "Very well. It is tradition to ask a kiss from a fair maiden for good luck just before a joust begins, yet perhaps some of the luck will endure until mine arrives."

"There are plenty of maidens who would gladly kiss you just before your joust-" Kyren began before his meaning had truly filtered through her mind. When she trailed off and turned red, the knight smirked down at her disbelievingly.

"Have you worked out my meaning, or shall I explain it to you in greater detail?" he mocked.

"I must return to the Red Keep, Ser," Kyren said, attempting to excuse herself.

Ser Jaime's hand shot out, preventing her from moving further until she had looked to his face once more. He looked somewhat disappointed yet again. "I was only teasing, Kyren. I did not intend to make you feel uncomfortable."

Despite her best efforts, Kyren's heart warmed as quickly as her face. "You did nothing improper, Ser. A kiss from a fair maiden is a long-honored tradition, but I fear I am an ill fit for the criteria. I trust you will find another suitable token of luck."

She ducked her head, hurrying back to the Keep before he could make a reply, and - after she had arrived there - spent a great deal of time musing over their interaction and wishing fervently that their conversation had followed another path.

* * *

Author's Note \- So, I don't know a lot about jousting. Shock, right? I'm also not great at writing sexual tension, so this wasn't my strongest chapter for sure - though it was fun to write! Anyway, things are going to start really moving in the next chapter, so if you've been bored up to this point, I both commend your determination to keep reading and promise that actual plot will start happening soon. Reminder, the poll about update schedules is still up on my profile for another week, so stop by and vote!

 **ALSO** , I don't want to post another warning at the top of the next chapter, but expect a similar level of mature content as this one. Nothing overt or graphic, but I like to warn people because I despise angry PMs about how I'm poisoning the innocent eyes of my readers.

Thanks to WickedGreene13, Radio Free Death, and my guest for their kind reviews! Guest, I understand your feelings, but I like to think of Catelyn Stark as that person some of us are lucky enough to have in our lives who will tell you the truth, no matter how painful. Yes, they sometime lack tact, but - especially in Kyren's case - the point they're making is true and necessary.

And that wraps it up for the week! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and have a lovely day!


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights belong to George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

The Red Keep was noisy in the aftermath of the Hand's tourney. Many of the participating knights had been given the opportunity to remain in King's Landing, staying with the royal family, and most had accepted. They sat in large groups now, drinking as they debated the finer points of combat - and swiftly devolved into harassing the serving girls. Kyren herself had nearly broken the wrist of a knight who had mistaken her breeches for an invitation to fondle her backside. She had left him unharmed only because it seemed unwise to assault a member of the society she aspired to join.

Rather than watch the raucous crowds grow rapidly more drunk, Kyren elected to confine herself to the upper levels of the Keep until it became time for her to retire. As she walked the spacious halls, lit intermittently by the flickering light of wall sconces, Kyren found herself in a section of halls offering utter solitude and she resolved to return to that space as often as necessary to distance herself from the bustle of the busy castle.

She found herself in those same halls more often than expected over the following days. Cheerfully lit by the sun, the hall faced a noisy, bustling King's Landing, the large windows offering no barrier between the interior of the Keep and the colors and action of the city. Despite such lovely, interesting surroundings, Kyren never encountered another soul in the area, regardless of what time of day she wandered. As the accepted state of things in her chosen hideaway, Kyren was rather badly startled one windy afternoon when she was finally joined by another person.

"Lord Stark," she greeted, inclining her head deeply.

"Kyren," he returned, giving her one of his rare smiles, the expression sitting oddly on his solemn face. "I feel as though I have not often seen you since our arrival here. How have you found yourself?"

"Quite well, my lord, and yourself?"

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over the lines of weariness around his mouth. "I find King's Landing to be an exhausting place and the residents of this castle to be exhausting people," he admitted.

Smiling a mirthless smile, Kyren nodded at the man who had taken her in. "I know precisely what you mean."

"I must tell you, this is no chance meeting," Lord Stark revealed with a piercing stare. "I sought you out for a purpose."

He immediately had Kyren's full attention. "Of course, my lord. May we speak here or shall we find a more private location?"

"I had wondered at your constant presence here, as this is likely the most private location in the whole of the Red Keep," he told her, amusement in his voice despite his grim expression. All traces of amusement disappeared as he said, "I have resigned from my position as the King's Hand."

Kyren's brain spun rapidly, processing the new information. There was very little she could say or ask as one of Lord Stark's subordinates, so she settled for, "I am sorry to hear that. Does this mean we will return to Winterfell?"

She flushed immediately at the thoughtless inclusion of herself in the Stark party, but he seemed to take no notice. "Yes, I fear so. I would ask that you prepare the girls to leave. I have some business to attend to in the city, but nothing that should require a great deal of time. The girls may fight you on this, especially Sansa, but I trust you will have them ready at my return. Enlist the help of Septa Mordane if you choose."

Kyren bowed her head. "Yes, Lord Stark."

* * *

The guard knocked when he arrived with the girl, just as Jaime had ordered. He opened the door to his quarters, relishing the shock on Kyren's round face when she found him. Jaime had told the guard to be deliberately vague in his summons and Jaime wondered briefly just whom Kyren had believed herself to be meeting, but soon pulled his mind to more important matters.

"Well? Come in, girl." He stepped inside, leaving Kyren to follow and the guard to leave.

Jaime watched as Kyren entered his quarters, trying to surreptitiously glance around and get the measure of him from the space in which he lived. He knew exactly when she saw the pair of half-opened saddlebags and a collection of packs.

Spine stiffening, she asked in a soft tone, "Are you planning on traveling somewhere, Ser Jaime?"

Jaime nodded, knowing she was not looking in his direction. "Yes, I shall be journeying to join my father and the Lannister army."

Her shoulders slumped and he felt a momentary thrill at the knowledge that he would be missed, but she collected herself enough to ask, "The Lannister army? Why is your father gathering his army?"

Damn. Jaime had not expected the girl to catch that slip. She was far more clever than she was credited for by himself and most others in the Keep. "It does not truly matter, does it?" he dismissed. "I invited you here to apologize for such an abrupt end to our training sessions… and so that I could say farewell."

Kyren moved toward a window, bracing her arms against the sill to stare out into the sea raging far below. Jaime wandered over to join her, resting his own elbows only a short distance from hers. "I admit, I find myself sad to see you leave," she confessed. "It will be difficult to find another sparring partner."

Jaime kept his face turned toward the sea as he said blandly, "You could always join me on the journey."

"I could- beg your... I do not understand, Ser," she responded finally.

Glancing in her direction, Jaime explained, "I have been advised that this could be quite the long campaign and that I would be well-served to find a squire." He smiled broadly, bolstered by the look of sheer joy on Kyren's face.

After a moment, the shine dimmed and her expression became sorrowful. "Ser, you have honored me beyond words with your request, but I cannot accept. My responsibilities lie elsewhere at the moment."

Jaime frowned at her. "Kyren, I promised that I would find you a knight with whom you could squire. I must leave before I can do so, and I am offering myself to fill the need. You must become a squire soon if you hope to become a knight at all."

"I know, Ser," she nodded, acknowledging his point, "but I can find another knight to squire if necessary…"

"And be left with the worst possible choices?" Jaime asked sharply. "Simpletons or cowards who believe that your sex and position mean that they are entitled to use your body as they see fit? Unless I misunderstood quite a bit of what happened the night of the Hand's tourney, you did not enjoy being groped. With all too many of the knights who would take you as their squire, you would find that treatment more often than not."

Kyren's parchment eyes flared at the memory and her fists clenched. Jaime felt a spark of pride when he remembered how close she had come to breaking off the knight's errant hand - not that he had reacted so differently to the knight's presumption, in all honesty. "Loathe as I am to reject your offer, Ser, I fear my responsibilities-"

"Your responsibilities or your assumed debt?" She blinked at him, but Jaime continued undaunted. His anger had been piqued, making him less careful than he should have been. "You live your entire life as though you owe it to the Starks. Do not believe I have missed all the instances over the past months in which you've inconvenienced yourself to remain near those girls."

"I've done nothing outside the realms of duty, Ser."

"Do not do this," he ordered. "Do not distance yourself by calling me by only 'Ser'. You know my name, and I would have you drop my title if I believed you could be convinced to begin such a familiar practice." She glanced away and he reached out to rest hands on her shoulders. "Do not shut down your emotions when you so desperately want to feel."

"Emotions are treasonous," she said tonelessly, her expression dimming into one of long-suffered duty. The words rang deep inside Jaime's chest and he distantly remembered saying them during their first training session, so many months before.

"Emotions are treasonous while fighting," he countered. "When your life depends on keeping a cool head."

"The lives of two young girls depend upon my cool head now," she argued, voice still peacefully resigned.

"A life without passion is one unworthy of being lived!" he exclaimed, enraged by her lack of response.

"The life of a knight requires many sacrifices," Kyren responded, and Jaime remembered that phrase as well from a training session.

 _Have I always spouted such utter nonsense?!_ he brooded furiously. Wild thoughts twisting his face into a dark scowl, he tightened his grip on the girl's shoulders. "So calm, so perfect. It seems that the only way to upset you is to wait until you are in the middle of a fight."

"Unfortunately true, Ser," she agreed demurely, breaking his grip as she turned away from the window and moved toward the door. "One of many things I will endeavor to improve upon before I attempt to squire with someone."

"Pity I do not have enough time to wait for a fight," Jaime said sharply. Kyren glanced back at him, the curiosity in her pale eyes changing rapidly to shock at the sight of him leaping at her.

The pair fell in a wild tangle of limbs, though Jaime was careful to protect Kyren's head with his arms and chest as they collided with the floor, only a thinly-woven rug to cushion their bodies against the chill stones. Immediately after landing, however, Jaime moved from protective to attacking. He would force a response from Kyren if he must, and he had many rather scandalous ideas on how to do so.

Kyren fought his hold. Her struggles were clever and held more strength than he had thought her capable, but the half-moment in which she had been stunned by their fall to the floor gave Jaime a distinct advantage. He held her pinned to the ground in the span of only a few breaths.

As soon as she had regained the breath knocked from her lungs by their collision, Kyren began to curse him soundly, some of her raunchier phrases bringing an appreciative grin to Jaime's lips. He still did not know exactly where the orphan girl had spent her first weeks in King's Landing, but with such an extended vocabulary, he would wager on Flea Bottom.

She ended the tirade with a rage-filled, "-What could you _possibly_ be thinking to do such a thing?"

"I was thinking - _hoping_ \- to provoke a response and my hope was fulfilled; this is the most emotion I have seen from you in our conversation thus far," he said simply.

"I-" she faltered, obviously not expecting such an answer. "I will not change my answer, Ser, no matter the emotion."

"I cannot claim that as my primary motivation at present," Jaime admitted in a murmur, knowing his gaze flicked obviously to her lips. "I merely wish to be certain that you do not lose yourself, buried in service to the Starks."

"There is little chance of that. I do not intend to lose myself to anyone," Kyren dismissed easily. Before Jaime could make any sort of response, she had wrapped her muscular legs about his hips and surged forcefully, attempting to flip him over and gain her freedom. Short of a slight lurch with her motion, Jaime did not move. Having anticipated the move, he had hooked his feet under the sturdy wooden framework of a nearby desk.

For a long beat, their gazes met - triumphant emerald mingling with confused parchment, legs entangled as the thrilling rush of their combined heat surrounded both warriors.

"If you do such a thing once more," Jaime warned after a moment to calm his voice, "I will not be held responsible for the outcome."

"Free me and I will not be forced to repeat my actions," Kyren countered.

Jaime laughed, though it was a frustrated sound. "You must always have an answer for every situation, I've noticed."

"Yet you seem unperturbed by it unless the answer is one you do not wish to hear," she argued. After several attempts at freeing her wrists, Kyren gave a frustrated sigh, blowing warm air past his face. "I understand if this comes as something of a shock, but keeping me pinned to the floor does not create any strong desire to accompany you."

Jaime felt his expression darken at the timbre of her voice as she said 'desire' and watched an answering light flare in her eyes. She wanted him as well… The fact could only help him. Her struggles had largely subsided, only the half-hearted slide of her legs against and between his gave any pretense of resistance - and even that motion served only to emphasize the softness of her body compared to his own. When she licked her lips slowly, pupils dilating, Jaime felt the last of his control give out with a nearly audible sound.

"Kyren," he warned lowly, "If you do not fight your way free of me in short order, I fear I will not be capable of controlling myself."

She made no move other than to tighten her legs around his waist. Jaime surged forward, pressing his lips to hers in a firm kiss, one that softened as he encountered no resistance. Kyren was hesitant, clumsy even, but she was returning his kiss. Her hands opened and closed in his grip and he slowly allowed her to regain her freedom. Kyren's strong fingers grasped his shoulders and wound their way into his hair, but he did not mind in the least. His own hands had long since flown to tangle in the burgundy strands of her braid while the other gripped her jaw to tilt it into a better angle. The increased contact between them brought a momentary sense of relief, the euphoria of giving in to an impulse, but it was soon replaced by a far more intense need - one that pounded through Jaime's body until it reached the point of pain.

With a tilt of her head and a small noise of pleasure, Kyren regained Jaime's full attention. She tasted of the sharp, evergreen-scented breezes of the North, and he gladly indulged in their continued embrace, but forced himself to pull back before he became too engrossed and forgot his original point.

Kyren frowned at him, drawn brows an odd combination with her kiss-swollen lips, and he smiled regretfully. "If we had continued, stopping would become even more painful than it is at present."

"I understand," Kyren said with a soft blush, beginning to unwind her legs from their clench about his hips. Before she could complete the action, Jaime grasped one muscled thigh, returned it to its previous place, and patted it while giving such a stern look that there was no room for misinterpretation. Kyren was to remain like this, holding him close, and her small smile told him that she gladly acquiesced.

"Come with me, Kyren," he said beseechingly. "It could always be like this. We could ride together, fight together, share camps and meals and beds."

He hated the reluctance in her eyes, but it was far better than the cold distance that had been present before. "I cannot, Ser. I have other duties."

"If you call me 'Ser' once more, I will jump from that window," Jaime warned, pointing blindly behind himself. Kyren looked uncertain, but smiled as he added, "We have grown far too intimate to insist upon using such formal and impersonal titles."

"Jaime, you told me once that a knight's honor is the most valuable possession we own. I swore upon my honor that I would remain here to watch over the Stark girls, at least until they become more comfortable in their new home."

He gritted his teeth at that. He did not wish to speak of the Starks at the moment - especially considering his altercation with Ned Stark outside of Littlefinger's brothel. "Kyren, I believe there could be something between us, something best explored now and fully. We cannot do any such thing if you remain in King's Landing while I traverse the wilds of Westeros."

Her dun-colored eyes sharpened. "You have yet to explain what exactly it is which takes you into the wilds of Westeros. Do not think I have forgotten such a strange occurrence."

 _Damn_. In a move that belied any claim to honor, Jaime pushed his hips against the apex of Kyren's thighs, twisting and bucking until she gasped wildly beneath him. Resting his lips at the corner of her mouth, he swallowed his own gasping and murmured roughly, "All this concern for the Stark family. You have other matters which require your full attention."

She arched, and Jaime took the opportunity to grasp her breeches-clad backside and pull her body still more firmly under his own. "Agree to come with me," he commanded. "With such a promise between us, we can continue this dance without hesitation."

"So that, due to my sex and position, you can use my body as you see fit?" she asked archly, the determined fire in her eyes at odds with her flushed cheeks and rumpled clothing.

"It isn't remotely the same," Jaime reprimanded, pulling back with an unfriendly look. "We have a chance at a future together."

Kyren chuckled. "I am sorry Se- _Jaime_ , but I am not so ignorant of the ways of this world. Anything a man in your position says is highly suspect."

"A man in my position," Jaime repeated. "And what position would that be, exactly?"

"You are a man, and a knight, and a Lannister, all of which mean you are unaccustomed to women spurning your advances. I have been warned by many women concerning situations much like this one, and the consensus does not lie in your favor."

Jaime frowned in earnest. "I do not understand your riddles, Kyren, but if you are attempting to insult me, I would far rather you do so bluntly."

Her expression became charmingly open and honest as she denied, "Not at all! It is simply a fact well-known among women who socialize with influential men. You claim to consider a future between us, but I fear you - as many others - are speaking of only one sort of long-term relationship." He arched a brow but made no other response, intrigued when she blushed. "That of you and your... manhood."

Said appendage gave a noticeable twitch as she mentioned it and Kyren gasped lightly. "While I care deeply for my… manhood," he began with a sardonic smile, "I happen to believe you and I would be well-matched in many aspects of our lives."

"Yet not enough aspects to make for a viable future," she countered. "You are a Lannister, and what is more, brother to the queen of Westeros. You will be expected to remain a Kingsguard, unattached to anyone or anything that does not directly concern the safety of the crown."

Jaime groaned, pushing himself to a standing position before storming across the room, fingers raking through the long gold strands of his hair. His temper was frayed to strings by the words of those who had seen fit to inform him of what he was expected to do or become. "Is it so impossible to believe that I should want to become something other than the mindless servant this society has ordered? That I should want to make decisions in opposition to those my family would see fit to make in my stead?"

"It is not so impossible to believe at all, Jaime," Kyren refuted softly. "Only that you would choose to do so for someone so trivial."

"Kyren, come with me," he beseeched once more, crossing back to her and taking her hand in his own. "I would gladly swear, upon my honor, that we _will_ have a future together."

"I would never ask you to swear such a thing as I am not ready to perform my part," Kyren returned, sadness thick in her strange eyes. "I will find a respectable knight with whom I can squire, and I will return to you. Could you not swear a future for us then?"

Jaime sighed, regret and disappointment settling in his stomach along with the ever-present loneliness. "Upon my honor, I swear… I swear that I will wait with bated breath until the moment of your return."

He lowered his head so that he could fix her with a searing kiss, dismissing her shortly afterward. With both of them thus distracted, Kyren never had time to realize that Jaime had vowed nothing grounded in reality, much less answered any of her questions about his destination.

* * *

Author's Note \- In case it wasn't clear from the hints I dropped throughout the chapter, most of the action takes place in the very short span of time between when Jaime Lannister and Ned Stark fought outside of Littlefinger's brothel and the time when Ned Stark wakes up to argue with King Robert and Cersei - finding that Jaime has left to join Tywin Lannister in the Riverlands. I apologize for the brevity of this chapter, but I said everything I needed to say in it and saw no need to make it longer than necessary. Next week's chapter will be somewhat longer!

I have closed the poll about update schedules and I want to thank everyone (all two of you) who voted. Seems like the five chapters/two week break option was chosen unanimously! That means I'll be posting chapters sometime in the next two weeks, then there will be no updates for the following two weeks. Anyone with questions is more than welcome to send me a private message! Shoutout to WickedGreene13 for another kind review! You're awesome!

Thank you for reading, leave a review if you can, and I'll see you next week! Have a great day!


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights belong to George R.R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

"...And here, we commend him for his bravery, his loyalty, and his sacrifice." Ned Stark raised his head, showing the quiet emotion in his gray eyes. "To Jory Cassel, a finer man than any in the Seven Kingdoms."

"To Jory Cassel," the small gathering repeated.

There were not many present to witness the burial of Jory Cassel here at the outskirts of King's Landing. Few in the South bothered to bury their dead - either one was rich and important enough to be placed in a tomb or they were so poor as to have their body dumped outside of the city, left to rot in the harsh sun without benefit of a name, much less mourners.

Though it obviously pained Lord Stark to bury his faithful captain of the guard in a strange land rather than return his remains to his uncle at Winterfell, he had insisted on gracing Jory with a Northern funeral. It was simpler than the ceremonies of the South - near disrespectful in local eyes - but those who had known Jory in life recognized that he would have wanted nothing more ornate. The mere fact that Lord Stark was present proved his love for the man who had been the captain of his guard; it was only against the advice and protests of several Maesters that Lord Stark had risen from his sickbed to perform the rites. His presence added much to the proceedings, being the highest-ranking official in Jory's home.

That Jory, a man Kyren had known most of her life, was dead caused her grief. Far more painful, however, was that his death had been brought about by Jaime Lannister. If she understood the temporal specifics properly, Jory had likely been killed - and Lord Stark injured - just before the blond knight had made his proposal to her. The idea made Kyren deeply uneasy. He had proven himself capable of great deception concerning one part of his life; who was to say that he would hesitate in doing so in others? A part of her treacherous heart reminded that he was merely attempting to recover his brother from a possibly-hostile source, yet it did little to soothe her worried thoughts.

Kyren was pulled from her musing when Lord Stark finished a prayer to the Old Gods, asking that Jory be judged fairly for his deeds. With the supplications ended, the service was over and the crowd - mostly those who had accompanied the Stark party to King's Landing - began filtering back to the Red Keep.

Before the girl could follow the others, she was stopped by the waving hand of Septa Mordane. Kyren had known Lord Stark had banned his daughters from attending the ceremony, and with good reason: around and even above where Jory's body had been buried, the bodies of others lay scattered, all in various states of dress and decomposition. It was an unpleasant location; however, lacking in the otherwise constant shadow of Sansa, the Septa seemed determined to speak with Kyren.

"Lovely ceremony, was it not?" she asked, dashing tears from her eyes.

Remembering abruptly that Septa Mordane had cared for Jory since his birth (having helped with his delivery), Kyren put as much compassion in her tone as possible. "I agree completely, Septa. He would have wanted a ceremony much like this."

"I only wish it could have taken place further North," the Septa fretted. "I wish many things could take place further North."

Kyren frowned. "I apologize, but I do not believe I understand your meaning."

"Come, dear. This is one of few places in which we may speak freely." Obligingly, Kyren followed Septa Mordane around a particularly thick collection of skeletons, bleached to a blinding white. "I fear for Lady Sansa."

Despite their personal squabbles, Kyren was pledged to the female Stark's safety and quickly asked, "What do you believe is placing her in danger, Septa Mordane?"

The Septa shook her head despairingly. "It is Prince Joffrey."

Kyren frowned even more fiercely than before. "Has he attempted to harm her?"

"No, but…" the older woman looked abashed. "It is a terrible thing to say of a prince - especially considering how young he is, bless him! - but there is something amiss. The way he behaves… It is no love match between Sansa and the prince, to be sure, but he watches her as if he is thinking of all the things he wishes to do to her."

"Many men look at Sansa in such a way," Kyren reminded, wincing at the bluntness of her own statement. However, it was true. Sansa was a true beauty, like her mother before her, and men had been entranced by that beauty since she had first stepped from childhood into youth.

"Yes, but Sansa has always been wary of such men," Septa Mordane countered. "Not so with the young prince. I fear that Sansa has been blinded by Joffrey's practiced smile and golden hair."

Though she would dearly love to argue with the Septa, insist that the woman was wrong, her words rang true in Kyren's ears. Sansa had always adored stories of knights and ladies, princes and princesses... any sort of lovely, high-born romance. Perhaps her longing for her own story had clouded Sansa's judgment where the young Baratheon prince was concerned.

Kyren frowned. "I apologize, Septa, but I do not know how I could possibly help. Sansa has made her distrust toward me abundantly clear. I believe the loss of Lady has brought about her true hatred of me."

"Oh, Kyren," Septa Mordane clucked soothingly. "She does not hate you. In truth, I believe Lady Sansa is incapable of hatred no matter the circumstances, but you two grew up together. You are kin of a sort, and though many differences exist between you both, she cares for you deeply. She may require time to grieve her pet, but peace will come to her soon enough."

Privately, Kyren believed the Septa was being far more generous than was realistic, but she nodded despite her own doubts.

"Kyren, might I have a word?"

Cursing her sudden popularity in such a horrific place, Kyren nevertheless turned and offered Lord Stark a brilliant smile. "Of course, my Lord. One moment." She turned back toward Septa Mordane, expression dimming as she realized the extent of the older woman's concern. "I promise you, Septa, I will do my utmost to ensure Sansa's safety, that of both her body and her soul."

Septa Mordane nodded, eventually offering a weary smile. "Thank you, child. Your generosity and well-grounded nature ease my worries."

Kyren blushed. Compliments from such a stern woman had never struck her as a possibility. With a humble smile and slight shake of her head, she picked her way across the bone-littered ground to where Lord Stark was patiently waiting. She offered him a smile as well, but the expression faded from her face as she took in his grim expression.

"Kyren, as you are certainly aware, Robert named me as his regent while he is away. The queen does not like this, nor do I believe she will appreciate some of my actions as his representative."

Nodding her understanding, Kyren paused a long moment before prompting, "And how would you wish me to aid in the situation?"

"I wish for you to accompany my daughters as they return to Winterfell."

She blinked at that. She understood Lord Stark's fear of retribution, but if the man would have his daughters return to Winterfell, the threat must be far greater than she had supposed. That being said, there was but one way she could answer: "I will do as you ask, Lord Stark." Gratitude crossed the crags of his weary face, but she spoke once more. "I would ask one boon of you, however."

"And what boon might that be?"he asked, voice wary.

"I would ask that you inform your daughters of your plan personally."

He sighed. "Kyren, I have many duties requiring my attention…"

"Please, my lord," Kyren entreated softly, gaining his full attention. It was not often that she argued against a direct order. "Sansa is already less fond of me at the moment than she has been during the whole of our acquaintanceship. I beg of you, do not ask me to deliver the unwelcome revelation that she is not to marry the prince."

The Hand looked somewhat undecided and Kyren added, "You honored me once by saying I was something of a sister to your daughters. I pray you will not take offense, but I believe my familiarity with Sansa allows me to understand her temper. She will accept such news far better if it is given by her father than by an orphan for whom she holds little regard."

"Very well," Lord Stark acquiesced, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "I will find the time to speak to my daughters myself. It is a task that should be undertaken by no other, in any circumstance. I apologize for thinking to thrust such a burden onto you."

Kyren pressed a hand to her heart, bowing over it slightly. "I am honored you believed me capable of such a task, even if I am grateful to be relieved of it."

To her shock, Lord Stark snorted. "Sansa is similar to her mother in many ways, including her temperament. I view this conversation with more dread than even yourself as I know exactly what response I am likely to receive."

It was a fair enough statement, Kyren reflected later. Sansa had taken the news extraordinarily poorly and was outdoing even Arya in her protests against her father's decision. While Arya had simply stated her desire to remain in King's Landing to continue with her dance lessons, Sansa had been listing every facet of the life she had been anticipating and how leaving would rob her of the opportunities she had been promised.

Halfway through her second recitation of the sort of man she would could expect to marry if she returned to Winterfell - "...twenty years my senior with grey hair and a paunch!" - her tirade was cut off by Lord Stark.

"While I regret that your grand plans have been disrupted, Sansa, my actions stem from concern for your safety. I place priority on that, even above your desire to become the eventual queen of Westeros."

The stern resolve in his tone silenced Sansa abruptly, though her lovely blue eyes filled with tears. "I would have been queen, but I would also have been wed to the most lovely man I've met in my life. I want to live with him, to love him, to have his golden-haired babies. I want our life together, not only the benefits that accompany it!"

Lord Stark stopped speaking, seeming suddenly lost in thought. "Golden hair…" His eyes sharpened. "Arya, Sansa, pack your belongings. I will return shortly."

Ignoring the piercing protests of the girls, he strode purposefully from the quarters.

* * *

Only a few short hours later, Kyren was called into the chambers that housed the meetings of the king's Small Council. Both of the Stark girls had packed their belongings, though they did so with much complaint. Fortunately, Septa Mordane was present to ensure that neither did anything drastic while Kyren was otherwise occupied.

Lord Stark looked solemn, but less so than he had since their arrival in King's Landing. "Kyren, I can only apologize for the task I am assigning- no, _asking_ that you undertake. I will not force your assistance in this matter."

Kyren bowed deeply. "I am ever your servant, my lord. How may I be of assistance?"

"I will gladly reveal to you my findings, but I must ask that you swear secrecy."

"I swear it, Lord Stark," Kyren answered without hesitation.

"I have uncovered evidence that Joffrey Baratheon is not a true-born son of King Robert." Lord Stark paused to assess Kyren's reaction and she fought to keep all but a grim determination from displaying on her expression. "I have sealed the proof of my findings into a letter I wish to send to Winterfell. Lady Stark will know what must be done in the unlikely event that Robert takes the news poorly. I cannot risk sending such information by raven.; even birds may be intercepted."

Kyren nodded her assent. "I understand, Lord Stark. How many will be accompanying me on the journey north? I fear that the girls and Septa Mordane will make for quite a large party, but we can bring others if required."

"You will be traveling alone," Lord Stark replied firmly.

"But my lord-"

"I understand your reticence, but speed is of the essence. You will travel much more rapidly if you are not forced to wait for those with less experience on horseback than yourself. Besides, I intend to confront the queen with my findings and offer her the chance to remove herself and her children from King's Landing. She would be a fool to throw away such an opportunity for sake of unlikely vengeance."

"A fool she may well be, my lord," Kyren argued. "Queen Cersei is a vengeful woman, one who holds far more power than is readily apparent. She is dangerous."

Lord Stark snorted. "I assume you speak of the Lannister family and their riches. They find themselves quite occupied in the north, fighting to regain custody of Tyrion Lannister."

"If you will forgive my liberties, my lord, you should be more cautious where the Lannisters are concerned. One injured your leg and would have killed you if he had not feared the repercussions - repercussions that will have removed themselves if you confront the queen and she names you a traitor." Kyren took a breath. "I only urge you to use caution, Lord Stark. I know you are far more wise than I in matters of diplomacy, but I fear you are blinded to the spite and hatred the queen carries within herself."

The man smiled softly, seeming utterly unconcerned. "I thank you for worrying over me, Kyren, but the queen is not without a wisdom of her own. She will not risk the safety of herself or her children for sake of keeping her position. She will certainly realize how unlikely such a thing would be and yield to caution. It would be far better for her sake if she were not in King's Landing when Robert discovers the truth."

"The truth that you alone threat her with," Kyren pressed. "She will certainly realize that all she must do in order to prevent King Robert from learning her children's parentage is to remove you."

"And that is why I've crafted this letter," Lord Stark replied.

"But you will not tell her of its existence and it will create no assurances for your safety," she knew she was dangerously close to outright arguing with Lord Stark, but Kyren could not stop the words spilling from her mouth. He was in danger, and the plan to offer mercy to Cersei would place his children and household in danger as well.

"There is little need to fear for my safety," the lord insisted. "My greatest concern is that Cersei will manage to uncover evidence of this letter's existence and your journey will become one of the greatest danger."

Kyren was far from stupid and recognized Lord Stark's words for what they were: a distraction and an attempted change of subject. Still, she humored the man who had raised her from such a young age. "Regardless of any danger, I will deliver this missive safely to Lady Stark, I swear it."

"You have my trust, Kyren," Lord Stark said with a smile. "If either of my daughters grow to be as steadfast and trustworthy as you, mine will have been a life well-led."

To her horror, Kyren felt tears pricking at her eyes. She pressed a hand to her heart, bowing deeply, but straightened to find Lord Stark waiting with his hand extended. He clasped her forearm and she clasped his in a recognition between warriors, two people utterly dedicated to their task.

"Go well, Kyren Asheworth," he bade and Kyren nodded firmly.

After a brief stop for her belongings, the precious letter tucked securely into her boot, Kyren retrieved Sotam from the stables and made her way through King's Landing at a brisk walk. The moment the city had disappeared from view, she urged Sotam into a gallop. As they flew over the level ground of the path, her lips quirked. Not even a fortnight from her decision to leave the Red Keep and Kyren was indeed traveling Westeros.

* * *

"Welcome, Ser Jaime," a guard greeted amiably. "Your father has requested your presence in his personal tent."

Jaime dismounted from his horse, removing his helmet before fixing the guard with a cold stare. He had arrived only moments ago, after having ridden for several long days in order to reach his father's camp. Now he was being ordered to his father's tent without the benefit of time in which to make camp, bathe, or even relieve himself?

The guard's wide smile faltered under the weight of Jaime's glare, but the Lannister knight sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Lead on, man."

Their path wound through the impressive camp of Tywin Lannister and his men. Everywhere Jaime looked, he found men carefully honing weapons, training, currying horses, caring for tack, or a hundred other industrious tasks. There was no laughter or jokes, no boasts of strength, and far fewer whores than Jaime had expected to find swarming near a camp of this size.

 _No, not expected_ , Jaime corrected himself. In any other camp, the whores would have been thicker than flies around the men, but the head of House Lannister kept a tight rein on his army. With a snort, he mentally added, _And his household. Any of his children can attest to that._

Before he could travel further down that vein of thinking, Jaime came to face the man himself. Lord Tywin Lannister held a knife in his hand with a grace and confidence that belied the many seasons he had lived. His pale visage was lined with concentration, studying the carcass of a freshly-killed stag. Even as Jaime watched, he seemed to come to a conclusion concerning the best way to begin dressing the animal and started in, making his initial cuts decisively.

Dismissing the guard with only a look, Jaime addressed his father stiffly, "Reporting as ordered, my lord."

Tywin merely glanced over his shoulder, seeming unimpressed with Jaime's behavior. "Am I to assume you experienced significant troubles on your journey? We expected you yesterday."

Jaime gritted his teeth against the flood of retorts that sprang to his tongue. Even if he had left King's Landing without attempting to gain the company of Kyren Asheworth, he and his men would have arrived no earlier than that morning. He doubted very much that the resulting delays had caused Tywin any real inconvenience, but that was not the point. His father wanted an apology, but Jaime would not give in to such a demand - in truth, Tywin wanted apologies for many of Jaime's life choices, yet he staunchly refused to give the man the satisfaction of confirming that Jaime so much as possessed regrets.

Instead, he gave a jaunty smile and said flippantly, "And I expected to be comfortably settled at King's Landing, but I find myself in the desolate waste of the Riverlands. It seems we are both fated to disappointment."

Tywin did not even turn to face his son after that declaration. The only hint of his irritation came with a slight sharpening of his voice. "Have you yet realized that we are readying ourselves for war with the Starks?"

"The Starks have done little to cause dissent," Jaime argued for argument's sake. "Only Catelyn Stark has acted offensively, despite what claims her husband sees fit to make."

"Such a thing is obvious to me, but I would have thought you believed otherwise with your recent attack on Eddard Stark," Tywin returned. "His anger will make things more difficult."

"He irks me," Jaime said by way of explanation, grinning cheerily when Tywin shot a dark look in his direction. "Are we concerned about the anger of the honorable Ned Stark?"

"Not in the slightest," Tywin said coldly, sliding his knife free of the stag's thick skin with a vicious twist. "We will take our vengeance from the true source of our troubles. Riverrun, Catelyn Stark's childhood home, lies no more than four leagues from this spot. I will give you command of half of my forces and you will take Riverrun. I care little whether you leave it standing in the attempt."

"Do you truly believe that attacking Catelyn Stark's childhood home _and_ the seat of House Tully will at all inspire her to instigate Tyrion's safe return?" Jaime asked, dropping his playful demeanor. There were factors here, things at stake, and he wondered if his father truly understood the potential devastation.

"Recovering Tyrion would have been far easier had you managed to bring the orphan girl from King's Landing," Tywin snapped.

Jaime grimaced. Tywin was forever fixated on all of his son's failings - though he was at least willing to concede that Jaime was his son. Whether or not Tyrion was fortunate to be regarded as a bastard depended upon the events of the day.

"I attempted to convince young Kyren to join me, but she was determined to remain with the Stark girls," Jaime explained tonelessly.

"Did you attempt to seduce her? You have a face that looks well enough, despite how you insist upon wasting it as a Kingsguard."

The venom of the last word made Tywin's despisal of Jaime's chosen appointment all too clear, but Jaime only sighed. It was a complaint grown dull by the weight of time. "Yes, and as a Kingsguard, I have taken vows-"

"Hang your vows," Tywin told him succinctly. "I am not so naive that I believe any abide by those vows."

"And if I do?" Jaime asked testily. It was one thing for him to forsake his vows, but quite another to do so on the orders of another… if for no other reason than that his father's excessive illusion of control reflected unpleasantly Cersei's order for him to do the same.

Tywin only gave a snort, removing a handful of stag viscera to be deposited in a bowl. "If you do, you are as naive as I am not and a fool besides." Before Jaime could respond - likely in anger - Tywin had branched into their previous conversation. "Kyren Asheworth is a weakness for the Stark family, one easily exploited by those who have control of her. We could have used her as a valuable hostage in the days to come or killed her outright without irreversible damage. Let us hope your sister is wiser than you. If she allows the girl to slip from her fingers as well, it could mean a shift in the war to come."

Jaime forced himself to give a roguish smirk. "Do you truly believe that such an insignificant girl could play such a large part in whatever squabbles the Stark family begins?"

"The scales of battle have been moved by far less in the past," Tywin answered cryptically. "One should never underestimate the power of a single painful death for a loved one of the enemy."

"Let us hope that we will beat them decisively on the battlefield, then," Jaime said slowly. "With one firm success, we can negate the need for hostages and painful deaths."

"Even if you should achieve a victory, we will require a show of power. To that end, there is always a need for hostages and painful deaths." Studying the internal structure of the stag, Tywin dismissed Jaime with a firm, "Take your rest where you can. I fear the Starks will prove far more difficult to crush than you seem to believe."

Though his father had not so much as turned pale eyes in his direction during the latter half of their conversation, Jaime dipped his head into a respectful nod before walking away. In the privacy of his thoughts, he came to the quiet conclusion that even a death in the wilds of Westeros would be a far more preferable death for Kyren than to be a hostage of Tywin Lannister.

* * *

Kyren made camp on the edge of a meadow she found in the forests near Moat Cailin. She had heard that Lord Stark had commanded a presence of Stark men in the ruins, but she kept her distance regardless. It would not do for something to have gone wrong and the area have been taken by soldiers who would only hinder her in her task. Still, two of the ancient towers were visible through the trees edging her clearing even when Kyren laid down to sleep. Sotam munched his way through the underbrush nearby, the sound of his chewing blending pleasantly with the sound of crickets and distant water and Kyren slept easily.

When she woke, it was because two men were approaching. They seemed to be guards making their patrol around Moat Cailin, but she laid still and silent regardless. Her wariness was lucky, as the men passed only yards from her camp. She had built no fire to give away her presence and was nearly invisible lying flat on the edges of the grassy meadow she had chosen. Even Sotam was nearly undetectable with his grey-spotted coat in the milky half-light from the setting moon.

As it happened, the men seemed deep in conversation, better to pass a dull watch. Waiting for a hint that they had discovered her presence, Kyren listened intently.

"-they say it was a hunting accident. Got too close to a boar he thought was dead."

"Hard to believe. You would think a king would have better sense."

A thrill of foreboding ran up Kyren's spine even as the first man snorted.

"The King, Seven rest his soul, was hardly a regular king, was he? He was too much a warrior. Warriors like to kill things close up, see the death in their eyes."

"Still," the other man said, obviously shaking his head in consternation. "But how does Ned Stark figure into things?"

"Tried to fight when they crowned the king's son, he did. Said he was not the true heir."

"Who else would be if not the king's son himself?"

"No one knows," the first man informed. "The queen had him arrested before he could say anything more about it."

"What does she plan to do with him?"

The conversation was beginning to fade as the men moved further from Kyren's range of hearing. She strained to continue listening, but could not risk following them through the underbrush. If Lord Stark had truly been taken captive by Queen Cersei, Kyren's mission had grown even more dire. The letter she carried could perhaps save Westeros from an ill-qualified ruler, if not save Lord Stark from wrongful imprisonment.

"There is to be a trial, but they say no man has ever won a trial after conspiring against the Crown…"

It was early, far too early to begin traveling in earnest, but Kyren's body sang with tension. With little chance of falling asleep once more, she packed her few belongings into Sotam's saddlebags, saddled the stallion, and began picking her slow way north. Even as she moved away from Moat Cailin and her once-peaceful clearing, the words of the guards echoed in Kyren's ears. At first light, she would mount Sotam and cover as large a distance as possible. Winterfell was far and there was much at stake.

* * *

Author's Note \- My goodness, but the Stark girls are ordered to pack their belongings ridiculously often. Poor things. I apologize for the lateness of this chapter! I was feeling strangely unmotivated over the last few days, but not to worry: I already have most of the next chapter written and we should move into our first two-week gap without an issue. For those curious, I am playing a bit with the timeline of the end of season one and the time between seasons. Mostly done on purpose, folks! Though on the topic of issues that are and are not done purposely, I believe I referred to Ser Cassel as Jory's father rather than his uncle in earlier chapters. I'll maybe go back to fix it if and when I have time.

There were no reviews on last week's chapter, so this wraps it up. Thanks for reading, drop some feedback, and I'll see you later this week. Have a great day!


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights belong to George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

The Stark camp was far more serious than Kyren had anticipated. In truth, she had not been anticipating a camp at all, but when she stopped for food at the Crossroads Inn, she had learned that the Stark armies had been mustered and were camped near the Twins. Reaching the camp had required a change in direction that had added a bit more time, but Kyren and Sotam ate up the distance quickly, Kyren's gut twisting with the news that the Starks had declared their intentions to wage war against House Lannister.

She had taken pains to avoid all inhabited areas on her journey, fearing that the Queen would have dispatched forces to put an end to any threats toward the children's claim to the throne. If what Lord Stark had said about the parentage of the Baratheon children was true, she had little doubt of what her fate would be if Cersei sensed a threat against the future rule of her children.

In any case, Kyren had finally reached the location where the Starks had set up camp. She had ridden only yards past the first tents when she was surrounded by grim-faced, armor-wearing men. All wielded swords or bows, each fully prepared to strike. Kyren tugged at the reins, but Sotam had already come to a complete halt, bouncing up slightly as if he were considering rearing up but had decided against it. In thanks, Kyren patted his grey-dappled neck, but her attention was pulled elsewhere as one of the men spoke out in a clear, commanding voice:

"Halt and state your business, stranger!"

Kyren dropped the reins completely, raising her hands away from the readily-visible sword belted at her side. "Kyren Asheworth, ward of Lord Eddard Stark, here to deliver a message to Lady Catelyn Stark on his behalf."

A dark muttering broke out in the surrounding circle and Kyren glanced around to gauge their feelings. She would do none any good if she were to be killed here, so close to her ultimate destination - and by soldiers fighting for the same side, no less.

"Have you any proof of your identity or intentions?"

Kyren frowned. "Any of the Stark family can identify me and I've already stated my intentions. Let me pass or bring one who can confirm that I speak the truth."

The man who had spoken looked considering. "Greyjoy!" he barked over his shoulder. "Is this woman familiar to you?"

The pounding in Kyren's chest eased as Theon's familiar face turned toward them and lit with his typical mixture of amused cynicism. "Never seen her before. Better arrest her immediately."

Flanked by a flurry of determined motion, Kyren shouted in her most commanding voice, "Theon!"

Jogging lightly to join the group, Theon waved the soldiers away from her. "Men, you find yourself in the presence of Kyren Asheworth. Though unpleasant and loud, she does indeed belong here."

The men drew back once more, one pausing to spit on the ground beside Sotam's hooves. "Witch," he accused, staring directly into her eyes.

Kyren was taken somewhat aback by the venom in his tone, but she had grown inured to this sort of behavior when she still dwelled in the north and remembered the most effective way to combat it. Smiling sharply, she leaned down toward the man to say, "Were that I was a witch, soldier. I am certain I could invent quite the curse for you."

He continued glaring, but went pale. Kyren rode on, feeling his burning gaze on the back of her neck. She did not seek out opportunities to make enemies, but she had little chance of swaying the opinions of men who insisted on believing her a witch.

Kyren directed the stallion toward Theon, halting as they reached him. Sotam snorted, shifting his weight from side to side as he stood and, understanding the horse was weary from their long journey, Kyren dismounted and combed her fingers through his mane. When he had settled, she directed her gaze toward Theon. "Thank you for your eventual assistance, though I do not understand why you insist upon drawing things out in order to tease."

He shrugged. "It is entertaining for me. This camp is in need of a diversion."

"I can assist in that sense," Kyren said, drawing Lord Stark's missive from Sotam's saddlebag. "I brought a letter sent by Lord Stark. Can you direct me - perhaps even accompany me - to Lady Catelyn?"

Theon frowned, eyes uncharacteristically grim. "How long ago did Lord Stark send you with this letter?"

"Nearly a fortnight," Kyren admitted. It was not an incredible amount of time in which to have traveled the majority of Westeros, but she was still ashamed that it had taken such a length.

After a curious pause, Theon nodded. "Follow me. Bring Sotam and we will find a place for him outside of the main tent. Does he still torment the other horses?"

Suspecting that Theon would not allow the change of subject to be argued against, Kyren allowed herself to be distracted by conversation about her stallion, followed by questions about how the residents of Winterfell were faring.

By the time Theon assured her that the younger Stark boys and Maester Luwin all fared well, they had attached Sotam's lead to a tree and moved toward a large, open-sided tent. It seemed rather like a war summit even to Kyren's untrained eyes, most of the tent's interior occupied by a hefty table holding an ornate map of Westeros, markers scattered across its painted surface.

"Kyren?" a voice whispered. "Why are you here?"

Kyren turned to find a pale Catelyn Stark staring at her with wide, red-rimmed eyes. Lowering herself into a deep bow, she offered the wax-sealed letter. "I came at the behest of Lord Stark. He bade me deliver this with haste, and in-person."

She glanced up to watch as Lady Catelyn regarded the missive with a wild light in her eyes. "Ned? Ned sent this?" Her voice was stiff, hesitant, and uncertain and Kyren's stomach dipped unpleasantly. There was something deeply amiss.

"Sent a fortnight ago, my lady," Theon interjected from some distance away, voice almost gentle.

Lady Catelyn accepted the letter with shaking fingers, opening it only after she had run those same fingers across the wax of the seal with something approaching reverence. Kyren straightened, glancing back at Theon. He only shook his head in answer to her silent question and she turned to find Lady Catelyn weeping softly as she read the words Lord Stark had written.

Feeling as though she were missing something rather important, Kyren asked hesitantly, "My lady? Are you well?"

Taking in a deep breath, Lady Catelyn lifted her startlingly blue eyes to Kyren. "What is the last news you heard from King's Landing?"

"I heard two guards mentioning that the king had suffered a fatal accident while hunting. That was some days ago, however…"

"My father is dead," Robb said bluntly, entering the tent to stand beside his mother.

Vaguely, Kyren registered that he had taken the missive written by the - apparently recently-deceased - Lord Stark to study it himself, but abruptly, the interior of the tent had taken on a sickly tint and begun leaning at an odd angle. A distant rasping noise fluttered at the edges of Kyren's consciousness, but she could not manage to place it, far more concerned by the darkness filling the tent despite the afternoon sun that should rightly have been pouring in.

"Kyren?" Robb asked distantly, stepping toward her with a look of concern on his handsome face. She had a moment to recognize the new lines of stress and sorrow across his forehead and under his eyes, but soon found it impossible to focus.

A touch on her arm startled her and Kyren found that Lady Catelyn had approached enough to lay a gentle hand on her wrist. "Kyren, slow your breathing."

Her voice was soothing, though difficult to hear over that rasping noise, now grown louder than ever. With a start, Kyren realized that the sound was her own gasping breath, but her chest was so tight… there seemed to be a noticeable lack of air inside the tent…

Robb used his bulk to half-lift, half-steer Kyren into a cushioned chair nearby. As soon as she was seated, a hand between her shoulder blades pressed her torso between her own knees. With Lady Catelyn chafing her hand comfortingly even as Robb rubbed circles over her spine and Theon stood in the background coaching her through breathing, Kyren began to calm. Her surroundings solidified and the sun seemed to shine steadily brighter.

"Kyren, I do not wish to upset you, but I need to know where my daughters are," Lady Catelyn said eventually.

"Lord- He told me that I needed to leave the girls in King's Landing, needed to get the letter to you, quickly as possible. He said they would be safe, said that no wise person would ever reject the choice he was planning to offer Queen Cersei."

Both boys present made disparaging noises even as Lady Catelyn grimaced. "My Ned… too willing to offer another opportunity, another chance. But this-" she indicated the missive Robb still held. "This may be used to minimize our casualties, perhaps even have Sansa and Arya returned to us."

"How long have you known?" Kyren questioned roughly. "When did news reach you about the fate of Lord Stark?"

"Several days ago," Theon revealed. "Not all is lost, though. We have a captive."

"A captive?" Kyren repeated, successfully managing to sit upright in her chair. "How did you manage such a thing?"

"With the master planning of the King in the North, of course," Theon grinned.

Robb rolled his eyes yet still managed to look pleased with the term. "King?" Kyren asked with a sinking feeling. She had quite enough of kings and royalty in King's Landing, yet it seemed that there was to be no escape.

Lady Catelyn cut off any explanation as she took Lord Stark's letter from Robb's hand. "Perhaps it is time we discussed these events with our captive himself." With a grim look in her blue eyes, she marched from the tent, leaving Robb, Theon, and Kyren to rush behind her.

Still a bit shaken by her earlier unsteadiness, Kyren's concentration was fixed on remaining with the group rather than studying her surroundings. After crossing a blessedly-short distance, Lady Catelyn came to an abrupt stop, flanked immediately by Robb and Theon. The posture of both males was notably aggressive, the threat no less apparent for being subvocal.

"So, at last I discover why you would push a young boy from a window," Lady Catelyn began. Her voice was strident and firm, brooking no interruption or argument. "It was all in an attempt to avoid discovery of your affair… one with your own sister."

Kyren felt her brows quirk. Part of her was amused by the public reveal of such an abhorrent practice while the majority wondered with horror if Lady Catelyn was speaking of Bran. Had he truly been pushed when they all assumed he had fallen? If so, she simply had to look upon the face of disgusting human who would do such a thing…

Creeping around the edge of Robb's broad shoulders, Kyren peered curiously into the cage holding a dirt-crusted man. His skin was bloody and bruised, his hair so matted and filthy that the color was no longer apparent, and he was chained by the neck to a post in the corner. He eyed Lady Catelyn through that colorless hair, but his gaze shifted at her movement. Familiar eyes widened as he recognized her - and her stomach lurched dangerously as she recognized him as well.

Overwhelmed by horror and revulsion, Kyren attempted to slip back behind the wall of Starks confronting Ser Jaime Lannister. However, Robb seemed to mistake her retreat for another episode of unsteadiness and held her bicep in a bracing grip, inadvertently forcing her to witness the scene unfolding between Jaime and Lady Catelyn.

When Jaime's piercing emerald gaze left Kyren's to slide back toward Lady Catelyn, there was a smirk on his lips - lips that had touched Kyren's own during their last meeting. Her stomach lurched once more, her breakfast of stale bread and berries urgently desiring to leave her, but Kyren fought to keep her face free of any discomfort or horror. For all purposes, she was now at war with Jaime Lannister and she knew from experience that no tactics were beneath him.

* * *

For the remainder of Catelyn Stark's lecture, Jaime could not help but to glance continuously to Kyren. Despite her valiant efforts to seem unperturbed, he could see the confused distaste in her eyes. The only question that remained was whether it was due to his presence here, his current state, or the lies being hurled at him by the Stark matriarch. Admittedly, everything she was saying was truth, but he would never admit that to Kyren. With her arrival here, he had finally found the means by which to make his escape. The only trick would be finding time to be alone with her.

At last, he interrupted the red-headed Stark. With a mischievous smirk, he leaned forward as far as his chains allowed and said, "Do you truly believe I care what you claim to have discovered? I will gladly own that I am thankful for the diversion you are allowing me, but these baseless accusations have ceased their novelty."

Catelyn Stark smiled at him so smugly that he felt a twinge of apprehension. "I wonder if these truths will recapture your attention when I reveal that copies of this letter have been sent to Stannis Baratheon, Renly Baratheon, and myself. My letter encourages for the information to be sent to various places and contacts around Westeros, an instruction I will gladly follow."

With feigned disinterest, Jaime shrugged. "I care little what rumors are spread about a young Stark boy pushed from a window. Now that the Starks have been named as traitors to the crown, none in Westeros will be overly distraught by a cripple."

A soft gasp from Kyren drew his attention to her horrified expression. Her strange eyes were filled with a betrayal only scarcely hidden behind the mask of indifference she tried to affect. An ounce of regret soured his mouth, but he was distracted by Robb Stark's chuckle.

"It is little wonder that we managed to capture you so easily with such attention to detail." Jaime did not bother to answer, but the Stark pup lifted a brow. "The accusations are not only that you slept with your sister but that you fathered her children. You should be far more concerned by the idea that your children will no longer be considered the rightful heirs to the throne of Westeros."

"I shouldn't be surprised if they simply kill your bastard children where they stand, when the news spreads," Theon Greyjoy said with a smirk.

Keeping a glare from his face through sheer willpower alone, Jaime cast a look full of derision at the former ward of Ned Stark. To hate the Lannisters was a given; most outsiders did. But to wish for the death of three young children was a vehement horror he had not expected. "I suppose I should not be shocked by such treasonous statements coming from an Ironborn. Rebellions were always the most widely-known export of your people. However, I would think even one from the Iron Isles would shrink from the idea of killing a child."

Immediately after the insult left his lips, Jaime regretted it, knowing he was leaving himself open for a variety of unpleasant rejoinders, but the remark came from a rather unexpected source: Kyren frowned at him and said, "Why should he, when one of the golden lions of Lannister did not?"

Theon let out an appreciative guffaw while both Starks smiled broadly. With a lash of anger loosening his tongue more than was wise, Jaime said sardonically, "Ah, Kyren. Utterly blameless, I see. And yet, how quickly you abandoned your self-inflicted post to deliver a letter. I suppose that duties as a large raven must taken precedence over the protection of the Stark girls. The worst insult of all is that you apparently found delivering letters preferable to joining with me. You did allow me to make fair headway in convincing you, do not believe I did not notice such a thing…"

As he had spoken, Kyren's face grew a deeper shade of red until he grew concerned that she would choke, but after the wink he delivered along with his closing remark, she only whirled around on her heel and stomped back to Robb Stark's tent - little good it did as the tent was easily within sight. When she had gone, Jaime settled back against his post and closed his eyes, choosing to ignore the curious and accusational crowd until they departed as well.

Despite his look of external peace, Jaime's thoughts were filled with self-beration. The one requirement he had for escaping the Starks was to speak to Kyren without an audience and he had nearly ensured that such a thing would not happen. Getting the girl alone would be far more of a challenge now than it would have been previously, but Jaime was more than a match for the puzzle. The alternative - that of remaining a prisoner of the Stark brat and his army - was too horrifying for consideration.

* * *

Kyren was weeping in the tent that had been allotted to her when Lady Catelyn let herself inside. The older woman said nothing, moving only to sit beside Kyren and place a comforting hand on her back. That gentle touch was Kyren's undoing, pushing her tears into shoulder-wracking sobs.

When she had finally purged herself of the poisonous grief stemming from Lord Eddard Stark's untimely death, Kyren found herself slumped forward over her own crossed legs with her shaking hands attempting to clean her tear-streaked face. A glance sideways showed that Lady Catelyn was smiling understandingly and offered a small square of rough-spun cloth to aid Kyren in her efforts.

Accepting the fabric, Kyren dabbed at her face as she remarked, "I find myself surprised that you are being so kind to me, Lady Stark. It is my failing that left your daughters in King's Landing unaccompanied and unprotected."

"Nonsense, Kyren," Lady Catelyn said briskly, her tone returning Kyren to her senses far more quickly than any soothing reassurance would have facilitated. "I loved Ned with every bit of my strength, but he had considerable shortcomings. It is his failings that have resulted in Sansa and Arya's isolation with the Lannisters."

"I should have stayed with them," Kyren refuted softly. "I tried to warn Lord Stark that Cersei is a vengeful woman, one who desires the throne more than anything in Westeros…"

"With the exception, of course, for her twin brother," Lady Catelyn muttered unkindly. The crass statement started a laugh from Kyren, sparking a corresponding chuckle from her conversational companion. "Kyren, what do you believe would have happened had you remained in King's Landing?"

Kyren considered the question for a long moment. "I like to believe that I would have taken advantage of the chaos of Lord Stark's imprisonment by gathering the girls and as many of the Stark party as possible, then fleeing the city."

"I disagree," Lady Catelyn said firmly. "I believe you are far too loyal and would have attempted to help my dear husband, even if it were to cost you your life. And that is the only difference I see, Kyren; had you remained in King's Landing, there would have been but one more death."

Try as she might, Kyren could not bring herself to argue with Lady Catelyn's assessment. She could never in good conscience have left Lord Stark to languish in the prisons of the Red Keep, especially knowing the likely outcome of his eventual trial. She would perhaps have thought to escort the girls from the city first, but there was every likelihood that such a thing would not have been possible.

"As we are discussing your loyalty to this family, I would like to discuss something which has been weighing significantly on my mind…"

Lady Catelyn paused for a long moment, blue eyes searching Kyren's face. With a final swipe of the cloth under her eyes, Kyren returned her gaze with as much strength as she could muster. The older woman seemed to find what she had been searching for and gave a decisive nod.

"I wish to release you from your oath to protect my daughters."

Kyren could do little more than blink as she processed the abrupt and terrible sense of a sudden fall. "You- You do not wish for me to return your daughters to you?"

With a laugh that sounded as though it longed to become a sob, Lady Catelyn shook her head. "I wish for that more strongly than anything else in this moment, but I fear I place far too much responsibility on your shoulders, Kyren. You are young and war is an ugly beast. Westeros will transform itself into a mass of fear, intrigue, violence, desperation, and a thousand other terrors. Rather than risk your life attempting a task which may prove impossible to complete, I would release you from your oath and see you safely elsewhere."

"My lady…" Kyren searched for the words that would not make her seem ungrateful, but her mind failed her. "Where else could I possibly be when the family I consider my own bears such grievous threats against its members?"

Lady Catelyn lifted a shoulder gracefully. "Somewhere far from this war, perhaps Dorne or Essos? If you are determined to remain in service to this family, we would benefit greatly from the assistance, though I would request you journey to Winterfell and watch over Bran and Rickon." Her lips quirked softly. "I am certain Maester Luwin would welcome your presence once more. He has expressed more than once how extensively he misses you."

Kyren's heart ached with longing. The life Lady Catelyn described sounded wonderful, a soothing and familiar balm against the harsh realities of the world to which Kyren had been recently exposed, and yet the part of her soul housing her morals screamed its denial. "I thank you kindly for your consideration and concern for my well-being, but I am afraid I must decline your offer. I would treasure the opportunity to return to Winterfell, but my place is in King's Landing, escorting your daughters to safety."

"King's Landing is a dangerous place-" Lady Catelyn began, but Kyren interrupted her swiftly.

"It has always been so, my lady. However, I know the land, the city, the people. If there is anyone with a chance of returning Sansa and Arya to you, it is likely me." Seeing that Lady Catelyn was prepared to make another attempt to sway her, Kyren smiled at the matriarch of the Stark family. "As I have said, I am most grateful for your concern toward my safety, but I do not intend to aid your daughters because I have sworn to do so. I will do whatever is possible because I feel it is only right. I have looked on the Stark children as near to siblings for all of my years at Winterfell and I will protect each of them with every fiber of my being. I would gladly guard Bran and Rickon, but I feel my presence is most needed in King's Landing, and that is where I intend to journey."

Lady Catelyn was not known for her warm demeanor and had never been seen to embrace one beyond her immediate family, yet Kyren nearly believed the woman would pull her close. Instead, gratitude shining in her blue eyes, she nodded. "As you will, Kyren Asheworth. Rest here for the next days, allow your horse to recover, and we will send you south with everything you could possibly require."

* * *

Kyren did not rise the following day until the sun had nearly reached its zenith. Despite sleeping in true safety for the first time since leaving Winterfell, Kyren had been plagued by dreams of Lord Stark, leading to a fairly wakeful night that had not settled until the wee hours of dawn. Even now, as she walked the camp, she caught snippets of conversations surrounding the late head of House Stark. Soldiers speaking amongst themselves were far more blunt than the man's loved ones had been and Kyren heard stories that made her want to scream and wail and rend her clothes. Even knowing the majority of the tales were likely gross exaggerations, there was little doubt that the last days of Lord Eddard Stark had been painful and unpleasant.

"Kyren!"

The girl in question stiffened slightly at the sound of someone calling her name. She cursed softly; she had feared she had been wandering too close to the cage holding the man she had once admired so greatly. Resolving to avoid the area until her departure from the Stark camp the next morning, Kyren pointedly ignored the too-familiar voice and - motivated by the knowledge that a short distance would remove her from his line of sight - continued along her chosen path

"Kyren Asheworth!"

His tone made her teeth ache. He did not sound regretful or pleading or desperate. Instead, Jaime Lannister seemed almost amused, certain in his cocky way that she would gladly run to him. The more brutal stories of Lord Stark's execution rolled through her mind and she refused to give the satisfaction of even a glance in his direction. Instead, she focused her energy on the dagger she was idly polishing as she moved. Occasionally, she had chosen a target in her path and thrown the weapon with deadly precision, marking the center of any object she had chosen. Naturally, this led to quite a build-up of debris along the blade, caked in the line dividing the blade from the slightly-flared hilt…

"Very well, shall I reveal to the Stark camp how we spent our last hour together before I departed from King's Landing?" When Kyren did not react, reminding herself that only a few yards separated her from freedom, his tone grew mockingly thoughtful. "Of course, these are battle-hardened soldiers. I'll likely have to share some of the more… _explicit_ details in order to make any sort of impact…"

Kyren continued moving toward the tents and trees that would shield her from his gaze, determined not to be caught by his attempts at blackmail, but a grinning Theon stepped into the same gap she had been eyeing with anticipation.

"Did you fuck a _Lannister_ , Asheworth?" His tone was giddy and gleeful and lit a fire in the pit of Kyren's stomach.

Losing all hope that none would believe the wild tales of the disgraced knight, Kyren snarled in Theon's face before stomping back toward the cage. When she reached the small enclosure, she stood in silence, arms folded across her chest. She may have responded to his taunts and threats with actions but refused to give him the satisfaction of speaking first.

As she waited, Kyren studied her former mentor from a closer vantage point than she had been afforded during the conversation of the previous day. Any fool would have known that captivity would not agree with Jaime Lannister, but Kyren was shocked to see how his good looks had faded under a thick coat of scuffs, dirt, and patchy beard. When he at last spoke, it was through lips that cracked and threatened to bleed.

"Well, my little friend, I must say: you seemed nearly as surprised to find me in such a place as I was to see you here."

"We are not friends," Kyren replied shortly.

His emerald eyes hardened even as his voice took on a musing air. "I apologize. As far as phrasing goes, I cannot call you 'lover', though I daresay, if I had another week before leaving…"

"I would have heard about your attempt to kill Lord Stark and hated you sooner," Kyren informed in a monotone.

"You do not hate me," he said with a smirk.

He was right, and that fanned the flames of Kyren's anger more than anything else could have. Holding her dagger threateningly - blade pinched between two knuckles of her cocked fist - she asked, "And why should I not hate a liar?"

"I did not lie, Kyren." She laughed outright, though it was rather bitter, and lowered her dagger. He sighed, irritated. "I did lie about some things, but not to you, not in our last conversation. I did wish for you to join me and I truly do believe you are wasted in service to the Starks."

"Meanwhile, I truly believe that I am on the proper side of these bars." He glared and she shook her head, smiling sadly. "My reasons for remaining in King's Landing may have been invalid according to you, but it was the correct decision. I have no doubt of my fate if I had joined you, and I have no desire to become a pawn in your father's war."

"I hardly think it is my father's war, not with the young Stark pup so eager for bloodshed," he pointed out. Growing uncharacteristically serious, he said, "As we are now on the subject of my family, however, I feel I must warn you: stay out of King's Landing. If you were to return, you would likely become a disposable hostage, or - if you were to be extremely lucky - killed on sight."

Kyren's steady, dispassionate gaze remained on him throughout his speech, allowing herself a small smile when he had reached his conclusion. "The time during which I would have considered your advice worth heeding has long passed. I shall do as I must and, if I should happen to encounter her, I will deliver your regards to Cersei. Certainly, she must miss you quite deeply-"

"Kyren, you must listen to me!" he snapped, leaning forward as much as was possible, eyes blazing fiercely at her. "There is a very real danger in King's Landing. If you wish to retain your freedom, your honor, and your life, remain in the north."

"Kyren!" Robb shouted, striding rapidly in their direction with a dark scowl on his face. Kyren waved him away, but he did not retreat far, staying in sight to watch the pair reproachfully.

"It appears this will be goodbye," Kyren informed him.

"Kiss me," he ordered suddenly. "Whisper my name and kiss me with all the passion you held in my quarters in King's Landing. You owe me that much."

Kyren blinked at him disbelievingly. "I owe you nothing. My one concession was agreeing to speak with you, and that was due to the scraps of respect remaining due to your knighthood."

"If you leave now, in this manner, you will regret it for the remainder of your days," he insisted.

Kyren smiled coldly. "I have many regrets, _Kingslayer_ , several of which involve kissing you, but I very much doubt if this will number among them."

With that said, she tucked her dagger away in the sheath attached to her belt and departed to prepare Sotam for the journey south. In the process of currying the horse, she attempted in vain to forget the wince and following ache in Jaime Lannister's eyes as she had referred to him by his most hated moniker. It was no matter. He - along with any sort of friendship or kinship they had shared - was merely a rather painful remnant of her past. Her future was elsewhere.

* * *

Author's Note \- Not to spoil anything, but this isn't the end for Kyren and Jaime (duh; it's in the pairings!) - though it may be their last face-to-face interaction for a while. Jaime has some character arcing to undergo and Kyren needs a chance to grow up a bit and sort her priorities. This story will continue to follow their lives, but perhaps not as closely as we have been. I'm not really sure. I have a few chapters planned out, but this represents the last of the chapters I already have written. This is also the longest chapter so far at over 5,500 words!

This is another chapter of Catelyn Stark being a tad blunt - this time toward her late husband - but remember that she has never shied away from the truth and knows Ned Stark is a little too optimistic. Besides, anger is one of the stages of grief and she may be bouncing between anger and acceptance (not next to each other in the stages, but if you've lost someone close to you, you know that there is no particular order to these things).

Special thanks to WickedGreene13 and my two guests for their lovely reviews! Thank you all for reading, please take a moment to leave a review, and have a wonderful day! See you in two weeks!


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights belong to George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

Kyren's return travels to King's Landing had been uneventful. With time now considered less vital than absolute secrecy, Kyren and Sotam took a more circuitous route in order to avoid main roads and large towns. With such a length added to an already-considerable journey, nearly two months had passed since her departure from the Stark camp.

At first sight of the stone buildings of King's Landing, surrounded as always by hard-baked ground and scrub brush, Kyren's stomach dropped until it felt as though it would be trampled beneath Sotam's pounding hooves. Despite her firmly confident speech to Lady Catelyn, she truly had no theories on a way to creep undiscovered into the capital city, let alone into the Red Keep itself. Kyren did not know for certain that any of the city watch or guards were searching for her, but they certainly would not stand idly by as she absconded with two daughters of an executed political prisoner.

Tucked into the shadows of a hooded cape, Kyren led Sotam to the front gates of the city. It was late afternoon, the buttery sunlight bright and warm enough that none would wish to pry too deeply into her intended destination. True to her suspicions, a group of guards stood talking to one side of the gate, idly waving through masses of riders, people on foot, even wagons laden with goods. Once every hundred people or so, one of the guards would glance over the crowds, boredom apparent in his heavy-lidded eyes.

As she drew closer to the towering gates of King's Landing, Kyren took a shallow breath to steady herself. There were risks in re-entering the capital city, but she did have certain protections. Sotam's beautiful dappled coat was turned a dull tannish-brown with dirt she had not curried from him and her own bland traveler's garb allowed Kyren to blend in with the majority of the tattered masses. Her defining features - red hair and odd eyes - were both concealed by the hood of her cloak. The grey fabric utterly hid her hair and darkened her eyes from pale parchment to a colorless brown. Leading her stallion was another effort against detection: on foot, Kyren was much shorter than the average Westerosi. Sitting on Sotam's back would have been akin to placing herself directly in sight of the guards. Additionally, her seat was obviously that of one who had been trained to ride. In this situation with so much else to occupy her mind, Kyren did not trust herself to pretend a less educated posture.

Forcing a calm she did not truly feel, Kyren kept her face inclined toward the ground and held Sotam's reins in the tight grip of an uncertain young girl sent to market alone for the first time. She took cues on when to move by watching the worn fabric on the back of the man in front of her, keeping him always in view. Somehow, the constant sight of a stranger whose face she did not know was keeping her grounded in this place, fueling this lie.

"You, there! Halt!"

Every muscle in Kyren's body tensed at the sound of the guard's harshly barked command. Using the edge of her hood for cover, she peeked out at the raised platform holding the collection of armored men. If she had found herself well and truly caught - before entering the city, no less - she needed as much warning as possible.

"We'll be taking a few of those apples, we will," the guard called brashly, confidence in his swaggering tone.

Kyren blinked at him in confusion and fought back an expression of shock when the man who stood in front of her answered reluctantly, "I am to sell these apples at market."

The guard shrugged, uncaring. "Sell the others at a higher price, then. I care little what you do for coin, but consider this a toll. Four apples; one for each of us."

"I apologize, but-"

"No offense was taken, man," the guard said easily, though there was a challenging light in his eyes that belied his calm tone - as did the eager fingers tapping at the hilt of his sword. "We'll be having those apples now."

Kyren watched as the man struggled with himself. From the deep shade afforded by her cloak, she donned a deep voice and muttered, "Better do as they say, boy. Them guards is nasty when angered."

The man started in surprise, eyes searching the crowd for his mysterious advisor, but swept directly over Kyren as she had intended. Jaw muscles working, he returned his gaze to the guards as he fished through the woven baskets lashed to the sides of his mule. After withdrawing four apples, he tossed them to the guard, who caught them easily with a wide grin.

The waiting masses inched forward once more, bringing Kyren and her apple-bearing neighbor that much closer to the guard platform. With the adrenaline-summoning sound of a sword clearing a scabbard, Kyren saw a blade hovering only scant inches from the apple man's throat. She was not the only member of the crowd to whip her gaze up to the guard who had spoken earlier.

Gone was the air of playful banter and laughter. Instead, cold resolve and an edge of cruelty filled his face. "If ever you are ordered by a King's Landing guard to perform a task, any task, I suggest you do so without hesitation. Too long a wait and you may begin to lose pieces."

The apple man eyed the guard but said nothing. The tension between them grew as thick and stifling as the air itself. In the beats of silence, Kyren waged an internal war. The guard was a bully and a coward and she longed to take a stand on the apple man's behalf, but her brain screamed for her instincts to back down. Kyren was in King's Landing to rescue Sansa and Arya, and exposing her presence to men who reported directly to Queen Cersei would do nothing to aid in her mission.

And so, hating herself, Kyren pulled her gaze from the situation before her and lowered her head. She prayed silently that the man would cut his losses and move into the city without further disturbance, but resolved to do nothing if he should choose to do otherwise.

In the moments required for her to debate and come to her internal conclusion, the apple man still had not spoken. Kyren was studiously not watching the battle of wills - and indeed, was beginning to wish that she had followed any other member of the crowd in through the gates - but still relaxed minutely when the guard re-sheathed his blade.

"Move on, farmer. I wish you luck selling your apples." The guard's mocking words were punctuated by the sound of a bite taken from a crisp apple… an apple that landed in the muck under the feet of the throng only moments later. "They are revolting."

The apple man tensed, but Kyren surreptitiously placed her hand between his shoulder blades and pressed him gently into the gap that had opened between himself and the people ahead of him. With a head dropped with the stiffness of anger rather than limp defeat, the man moved on without making any remarks to the armored men guffawing from the safety of their platform.

The gates of King's Landing had passed behind them when the apple man turned abruptly. "I s'pose I should thank you for what you did back there."

Kyren blinked owlishly at him, but dropped her head and said gruffly, "I did nothing."

"I would'a fought those guards and they would gladly 'ave gutted me."

"Those men were fools, drunk on their own power," Kyren growled frustratedly, but softened her tone. "Best of luck with your harvest."

Before he could answer, she had melted into the masses of people inside the King's Landing gates, allowing the crush of humanity to carry her deeper into the city.

* * *

Kyren slammed her way into the room she had purchased at the seedy inn where she had elected to stay, ignoring the barely-muffled shouting from the man staying in the next room. She had risen early in the day, ready to prowl the streets of King's Landing. Her first priority was to gather information. Yes, she had counted herself as a resident of the city some months before, but several important events had rocked the capital since she had departed for Winterfell. The more details she managed to gather - even from the dubious rumor mill of the common people - the better prepared she would be for her mission.

And yet, despite her determination, she had now returned to the dismal inn with little more information than she had possessed at the start. The direct line of questioning had perhaps worked for Lord Stark, but it was proving an absolute waste of time for Kyren. Whether due to her lack of power, her sex, or the refusal to part with coin in exchange for information, Kyren had been shunted from informant to potential informant without progress.

Reclining on the thin, lumpy mattress in the room she had purchased, Kyren studied the contents of her purse. Lady Catelyn had given her a handful of coins to aid in her journey, an amount the orphan girl had largely been able to stretch on the journey up to that point. But here in the city, there was no option to camp under the stars. No, a room was an unavoidable expense, and this room was the least respectable she could manage without feeling as though she were in actual danger. Likewise, she could not hunt for her meals as she had on the journey south. No, much as she would try to avoid it, she would require food eventually and it would have to be bought. The idea of stealing food crossed her mind briefly before Kyren's mind provided her with an image of the apple man and the distress caused by losing only four of his apples. It would appear that none in King's Landing could spare their goods, and she was loathe to add to the burdens of others for her own gain.

Shaking the coins into their purse once more, she tucked it securely into her boot and settled onto the uncomfortable pallet once more to lose herself in thought. With all of the factors involved, her coin was precious. She had none to spare for food more than once daily, and she would not squander it in greasing the palms of those who offered information of doubtful veracity.

She groaned her frustration. It was unlike the people of King's Landing to be so reluctant with information. Like people everywhere, they had grievances and ideas of how to fix the world and were most willing to share them. When she had been staying in the city previously, she had known more of the lives of the royal family from walking down a Flea Bottom street than she had from living in the Red Keep itself.

Unbidden, a memory of Shana Dyser rose to the forefront of her mind. _Have you been told of Lord Varys and his 'little birds'? … a group of street children he's recruited to discover information…_

So, the Master of Whispers received his information from street children, those who were in the background and underfoot, nearly invisible to those who paid little attention. Kyren smiled in her dismal lodgings. She had been approaching the situation in a completely incorrect manner. Commoners were uncomfortable speaking to nobles and those who appeared _too_ interested in what they knew, that was why Lord Stark had been forced to pay for the information he received despite being generally well-liked. Kyren was no noble, but she had appeared far too interested to allow the people to gossip safely.

With a new plan rapidly taking shape, Kyren snuffed out the single candle illuminating the dirty room and rolled over to attempt sleep.

* * *

The next day found her wandering the streets of King's Landing once more, though with a much less frantic pace. Rather than rush from shop to tavern and every place between, she meandered, strolled, and browsed, ears ever-listening for gossip. To add to her preoccupied appearance, she wore her traveling clothes once more and led Sotam by a frayed rope attached to a scrap-leather bridle. Few gave the pair a second glance and fewer still attempted to approach - a number which dwindled to zero after Sotam had made his displeasure clear.

As with all gossip, there was much nonsense to sort out before anything of value was gleaned. Kyren had heard a truly insipid number of details about one of the nobles who had visited for King Joffrey's name-day celebration some time before, was subjected to a horrifically detailed description of the breasts of a new whore in a popular tavern, and overheard a number of complaints and suggested remedies for a man's unfortunately-placed skin irritation.

At long last, while pretending to browse fabrics at a stand with a preoccupied owner, Kyren heard a snippet of conversation that had potential to be useful:

"...I tell you, that new Commander of the City Watch is a treat to the eyes!"

"A bit rough, would you not agree?"

"Perhaps, but there is significant appeal to a man who appears so dangerous, so untamed..."

The owner of the fabrics shop at last turned his attention to Kyren, giving a smirk and roll of his eyes in the direction of the two women as if to commiserate with her over their foolishness, but Kyren only gave a distracted smile and moved further down the street. Her brain whirred. There was a new captain of the City Watch. That could prove helpful, especially if he was too unused to the position to be effective. The women had said he seemed dangerous, but any man who knew which end of a sword to hold seemed dangerous to such folk.

Some hours had passed before Kyren found another snippet of information, this one far less useful in a tangible sense but equally as vital to her picture of King's Landing:

"Do you believe he is caring for her?"

"The man runs the brothel where she works. I believe he is 'caring' for her in a very particular way."

"You mistake my meaning. Mhaegan has not been the same since her child was killed."

"You mistake my jest for caring, my friend. She is a whore with one less care in the world. Why should she be distraught?"

"You are heartless, man! Her own infant daughter, stripped from her and killed before her very eyes on the queen's own ord-"

"Do not say such things! Not here, when any could hear you!"

"And why should I fear to speak the truth? Every being in King's Landing has learned of the illegitimacy of the royal children. Mhaegan's only crime was that she laid with the king on his own command and gave birth nine months after. Who is to say she was the king's child? That any of them were?"

"Who, indeed? Not I, not any."

"The queen did! Why else would the city watch murder an innocent child?"

"I cannot speak to you when you are distraught so, my friend. Come, the tavern is the place for a conversation like this one…"

The moment the men were tucked safely inside a nearby tavern, Kyren returned to the inn and thought over that unsettling news. The unrest and anger toward the royal family had certainly risen by an alarming degree since her departure, but as it had worked in her favor, Kyren had never thought to question the reasoning. Now, knowing that at least one of King Robert's illegitimate children had been brutally murdered for no other reason than that they had posed a threat to the crown, this new vehemence toward the boy king was understandable.

The people of King's Landing were rapidly growing to despise their rulers. It was a dangerous time to be in the city, yet far more dangerous for any who were closely affiliated with the royal family. As political prisoners, Sansa and Arya may not be killed immediately should the people perform a successful coup, but they may wish they had been. Physical assault and imprisonment were to be expected, and the young Starks would likely become nothing more than leverage against the power and wealth believed to be held by Robb as the self-proclaimed 'King in the North'.

No, there was no question in Kyren's mind that she needed to rescue the Stark girls from the Red Keep - and the clutches of Queen Cersei - as soon as was remotely possible. Her next step, one she intended to take the next day, was to begin searching out some method of infiltrating the castle undetected. Ideas and wild theories swirled inside her mind as Kyren slipped into a light slumber on the thin pallet.

* * *

It was dark.

He was alone and he was grateful for it. The mockery and abuse hurled at him in every moment spent with another human was curbing even his voracious appetite for attention.

Jaime glanced around, a frown crossing his face. Even in the darkness surrounding him, he knew there must be something strange happening. His every thought of late had been of how his skin, hair, and tattered clothing were crusted with dirt and worse, but now he was as clean as if he had just bathed.

In a flash, he understood himself to be asleep, lost in a dream. Rather than wake him, the realization brought Jaime a sense of comfort. This was far better than his filth-crusted cage back in the Stark camp. The only factor preventing this haven from becoming utter perfection was the pervasive, unavoidable darkness.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, a soft glow caught his light-starved eyes. It was dim and far from where he stood, but tangible and _real_. Jaime started toward it, relishing the unfamiliar sensation of moving under his own power. It was freeing, a balm to the body that had been trapped in chains for far too long.

In the waking world, Jaime's wasted body would never have managed half the distance he covered in that light jog toward the source of the light, but instead, he arrived without even a single gasp or pant. To his surprise, there was only a bird at the end of his journey. It was an ugly thing, squat and fat, perched on a lower branch of one of the hideous Weirwood trees these Northerns insisted upon carving in an act of worship for their Old Gods.

Oddly enough, the bird itself seemed to be emitting the light. Its tattered gray feathers did little to mask the glow that appeared to emanate from the very skin of the creature. Jaime had only a moment to marvel disbelievingly at the sight before he was ripped back into the version of himself bound by the neck in the camp of Robb Stark.

A grinning soldier was bouncing a wooden mug from the bars of Jaime's cage, creating an unpleasantly sharp ringing noise that had jolted him from his slumber. Ignoring his new company, Jaime settled back and closed his eyes once more. It had been a dream. A strange one, to be sure, but a dream nonetheless.

Even so, he could not shake the suspicion that the darkness and its glowing bird had been something more. He had never remembered a dream with such clarity, especially one from which he had been pulled without warning. Still, it had been a welcome respite from his captivity, and Jaime gladly spent the next hours parsing over various factors with a fervor borne of desperate boredom.

* * *

Kyren tugged at Sotam's bridle once more, attempting to budge the horse through a particularly thick section of crowd. The stallion had been less than patient of late, especially as Kyren was attempting to dissuade him from nipping at members of the crowd. A violent animal only served to attract attention, but Sotam so despised crowds that he had begun refusing to move at all until the crowds around them had cleared. Already, his reticence had cost her dearly: the only information she had gathered that day was that Lord Petyr Baelish had left King's Landing for an undisclosed amount of time. Welcome as the information was, Kyren was painfully aware that her time int he city was drawing to a close and she was no closer to rescuing the Starks.

"Girl!"

It was just another shout in a crowd of shouting and Kyren did not pay any mind until a rough man appeared by her side.

"You, girl! Where did you get that horse?"

Kyren blinked at the man for a long moment. "He was given to me by my father," she explained, silently sending up an apology for the falsehood - though she did consider Maester Luwin to be the closest to a father figure she had possessed.

"He's a warhorse, he is," the man said softly, staring up at Sotam with an appraising eye. He reached up to stroke the cords standing out from Sotam's neck before Kyren could warn him against it, and Sotam nipped his hand sharply.

"As you can see, he is a horse with little patience for strangers," Kyren said coldly.

"Thirty Coppers."

"I beg your pardon?" she returned, floored.

"For your horse. I will buy him from you." Even now, the man had no attention for Kyren. His entire attention was fixed on Sotam with a calculating eye that raised every one of Kyren's hackles.

"No."

"Forty, then," the man amended. "Surely you do not believe anyone would give you more for him?"

"I care little what anyone would pay me for him as I am not intending to sell him," Kyren said firmly, moving to pull Sotam forward once more.

The man caught at her shoulder, withdrawing immediately as Sotam blew a warning through his nostrils. "Fine, then. A Stag. A whole Stag for you, girl. Just sell me the horse. He is far too fine a beast to be owned by a peasant girl."

"No. Kindly allow me to pass," she commanded, pointedly stepping to the side before giving Sotam's lead a sharp tweak.

Before she could take a single step forward, the man had wrapped his fleshy hand around Kyren's on the rope and was attempting to take the horse by force.

"Stop!" Kyren bellowed directly into his ear, hoping to stun him into stillness. She wished to avoid removing his hand by force as it would as good as reveal her as one who had training, but she would not allow the man to take Sotam from her. Even if it were not for the nostalgia stemming from Sotam being a gift from Maester Luwin, he was her friend, faithful companion, and one of the few beings in Westeros whom she trusted - all despite being a horse.

She allowed her grasp on the rope to slip - releasing the tension and propelling her elbow directly into the throat of the would-be thief. He released Sotam's lead immediately, stumbling back with his hands clutched against his neck. Kyren took advantage of the lull in the crowd's motion and hauled Sotam forward, trying desperately to leave the area.

"You thrice-damned cunt!" the man screamed, ripping the rope from Kyren's hand even as he attempted to throw a fist in her direction.

Kyren braced for the impact. She had experienced a blow to the face, naturally. One does not grow up training in the company of three competitive young men without engaging in the occasional scrap. It was not her favorite sensation, but she knew she would recover quickly enough to regain control of her stallion before he was taken from her permanently.

However, the man was whipped around by a grip on his shoulder and experienced a fist to the face, stomach, and ribs in quick succession. Kyren was left to stare, Sotam's lead still held in her limp fingers, as she stared at the new arrival: a man with wild black hair and a pair of too-familiar blue eyes.

"Wha- How- Tarik?"

Tarik did not respond to her half-stammered questions, fixing his attention on the man who attempted to rob her. "Listen carefully: this is your only warning. If you are caught trying to steal in Flea Bottom again, you will not be left to live."

The man scrambled to his feet, darting off through the crowd with only a few terrified glances tossed over his shoulder. When he had left their sight, Kyren looked to Tarik, who still gazed after the man. "Thank you, Tarik. I truly appreciate-"

"My mother asked that I bring you to her," he responded simply. Kyren frowned. There was no inflection in his voice, no humor in his eyes, no expression on his face. He was not the Tarik she had known.

Before she could begin to voice her questions or concerns, Tarik turned and moved through the crowd, seemingly uncaring of whether she followed. Only a moment later, she did.

* * *

Author's Note \- Welcome back! I've dearly missed posting for you all, but I've got some scenes I'm really excited for you all to read in the upcoming chapters. Quick note: the timeline of the _Game of Thrones_ series is notoriously convoluted and inexact, but I've been plotting this as if roughly a year has passed since Kyren's departure from Dyser's and a few months since she departed King's Landing (roughly three in my estimation). That's plenty of chances for Kyren's relationship with the Dyser family to have shifted rather dramatically...

Special shoutout to Winter Frostine and my guest reviewer for their feedback and encouragement. It means the world!

Anyway, thanks for reading, leave a review for a heads-up on update scheduling, and I'll catch you all next week! Have a wonderful day!


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

When Kyren walked through the door of Dyser's, it was with a peculiar sense of homecoming. The crowd of tables, the rough-hewn benches, and the dim atmosphere all mingled to transport the orphan girl back to the time when she had called the small tavern a home of sorts. Shana Dyser herself was standing in her typical place: against one wall between the entrance and the door to the kitchen, near the blocked stairwell the led to the Dyser family's living quarters atop the tavern itself. It was a place where she could see everything without being readily observed, where she was in easy reach of anything she might need, and where she could easily summon Kyren if she happened to spot an altercation.

Kyren nearly smiled at the familiar sight, but stifled the expression. She had no way of knowing why she had been summoned to the tavern. It was entirely possible that Shana intended to send her to the Red Keep in the hopes of earning favor with the Lannisters, though Kyren's instincts assured her that such a thing was not likely.

"Shana Dyser," she greeted softly with a bow to show her respect.

Shana patted Tarik's arm and he warily stepped aside, allowing Shana and Kyren to speak without a block in their line of sight. "Kyren Asheworth," she returned with a fond smile. "You look well."

"As do you," Kyren said, though it was perhaps a falsehood. There were lines around Shana's eyes and mouth, lines that had not been there before her departure. Shana seemed thinner, still more delicate than she had previously been, and dark smudges were prevalent beneath her eyes. Kyren wished dearly to learn what had happened, but it seemed the height of ill manners to say such things when the two had been so recently reintroduced.

With a dry laugh, Shana shook her head and indicated that they would sit. "I had never thought you a liar."

Kyren shrugged. "I am what I need to be. I have a purpose which cannot be avoided."

"Still?" Shana asked with a lifted eyebrow, frowning at her son when Tarik blew an exasperated sigh. "In any sense, I am certain that you wonder why you have been brought here."

Smiling despite herself, Kyren admitted. "I had wondered, yes."

"Lord Varys' little birds have told me that a strange girl was in the city, listening and watching as she walked without destination and shopped without purchase. Have you learned what you needed?"

"No," Kyren said shortly. Shana did not appear ready to give her over to Cersei, but there were still a variety of reasons not to readily disclose details about her mission.

"I see," Shana said slowly, pursing her full lips. "Still, if I have learned of your presence here, you do not have long before Lord Varys is told. Perhaps he would require some time to find your identity, but he is loyal to the queen. You cannot continue as you have been."

Kyren spread her hands wide in a supplicating gesture. "I am open to suggestions."

"Why, you will stay here, of course," Shana informed her.

"I- I do not believe I understand-"

"What is there to understand?" Shana scoffed, but grew quiet when she saw Kyren's hesitation. "I promised you aid when you were here before, aid meant to settle the debt I owed you for helping me run my business when I required assistance. I could not help you when Lord Stark was imprisoned, and I could not save the Stark girls from being held captive in the Red Keep. I have been unable to repay you for the work you did here so long ago and I wish to. So, if you should choose - and I _strongly_ advise you do so - you are welcome to stay here while you continue your investigations in King's Landing."

"I would be unable to help in the tavern," Kyren warned, testing the resolve of her would-be landlady.

"As it happens, I no longer require help in the tavern. Mellinna informed me some time ago that she would be unable to continue with her work in the kitchen. She agreed to stay on to train a replacement and I took in an ex-serving girl from the castle. She works in the kitchens to earn her food and bed and performs other tasks as needed. I believe Bracks to be quite taken with her as well."

Faced with an utter lack of options for housing, Kyren was forced to deliberate on the merits of returning to Dyser's. She would have a private room, save her precious coin, and continue to avoid the notice of Lord Varys and his little birds. It would mean trusting Shana and her family, but it appeared that they were already aware of enough to track her down.

With a conspiratorial smile, Kyren leaned toward Shana. "The ever-stoic Bracks smitten by a Red Keep serving girl? That is something I simply must see with my own eyes. When may I move in?"

Shana's hazel gaze brightened. "Immediately. Tarik will help you move your belongings."

With an involuntary glance that found a muscle working in Tarik's jaw, Kyren hastily refused. "I thank you, Shana, but I did not bring a great deal of things that require transport. I will return later this evening." She rose, but paused before she could take more than a few steps beyond the bench. "I loathe asking this, but I do have my stallion and he will require a place. Are there any trustworthy stables nearby?"

After a moment of thought, Shana nodded. "My neighbor has a three-stalled stable behind his shop. I believe I have some information he will find to be of equal value. Take your horse with you to gather your belongings and I will have found a place for him by the time of your return. Are you certain you would not have Tarik accompany you?"

"Absolutely certain, though I thank you both," Kyren said with a shallow bow. Shana nodded, but Tarik appeared to be angered beyond word or expression. "I will return after full dark."

* * *

Sensing that the mood of the streets was tense and secretive, Kyren admitted defeat early in the day and returned to Dyser's. She had been staying at the tavern long enough to see it as a solid base for her operations, a safe haven to which she could return after a long day of seeking out information.

"Kyren!" a voice bellowed as she walked into the tavern, largely abandoned so early in the afternoon.

By all rights, she should have been startled by the sound, put on edge and ready to fight, but Kyren recognized the voice too well for such a reaction. "Bracks!" she greeted in return.

He towered over her, though it was more due his unavoidably intimidating stature than any purposeful move on his part. "I heard you had returned to King's Landing, but I had yet to see you and was uncertain. I half-believed that Mother was jesting."

Kyren shrugged and gave a sardonic expression. "I returned some days hence, but I had not seen you. According to your mother, you have been nearly impossible to keep from the kitchen."

Bracks colored slightly and Kyren laughed in disbelief. Rather than grow offended or uncomfortable, however, the eldest Dyser son grinned at her. "I understand you've heard of the newest addition to our tavern?"

"Heard, yes, but I have yet to meet her. Perhaps you would be willing to forfeit a few moments of privacy in order to allow me to see her?"

"Her time is her own," Bracks said thoughtfully, "but I made certain she was caught up on kitchen tasks for the moment. Bellin!"

"I can hear you without shouting, you great bear of a man! Your voice rumbles so deeply that it shakes the very founda- Oh, hello!"

Kyren could not help but smile at the young woman who emerged from the kitchen. Her curly blonde hair and plump face made her look positively cherubic, especially so with the roses blooming in her round cheeks from the heat of the cooking fires. She curtsied smoothly and Kyren could abruptly see the serving girl she had reportedly been.

"Hello," Kyren returned. "I am Kyren. I have heard much about you, though I do believe this is our first meeting. You appear to be quite popular; all of your time is claimed!"

Bellin shook her head in mock despair. "Naturally, I am worked to death, and this one claims of all of my time besides!" she said, indicating Bracks with a bob of her head, mischief glinting in her deep blue eyes. "But it is a pleasure to meet you, Kyren! The Dysers speak of you quite fondly, especially young Tarik! I am called Bellin."

It took a moment for Kyren to move past the not-unwelcome knowledge that Tarik did not despise her so deeply as he seemed to, but she managed. "Wonderful to meet you as well! Shana speaks highly of you, no mean feat. And I understand you've managed to ensnare Bracks here. That has been a long time in coming."

"Yes, he has been a perfect gentleman! Always volunteering to move the heavy dishes or take the scraps outside. He is invaluable to me." She reached up, wrapped an arm around Bracks's neck, and tugged him down to place a kiss on his reddened cheek. Bracks pointedly looked anywhere other than Kyren's direction, but Bellin's eyes sparkled at her. "Bracks is the best part of my new place here at Dyser's, and that is impressive indeed with how lovely the whole family has been."

Kyren laughed aloud at the discomfort on Brack's face. The moment Bellin released her hold on him, he scurried upstairs with a nimble speed that should have been impossible for a man of his stature. Only a moment passed before she sobered, however, realizing the wisdom of taking advantage of her new privacy with the ex-serving girl.

"Bellin, I understand you used to serve at the Red Keep. Is that so?"

The laughter faded from Bellin's friendly face for the first time since her entrance into the main tavern and Kyren felt a twinge of guilt. "It most certainly is so. Why do you ask?"

"I find myself curious of the royal family…" Kyren hedged.

"You may trust her, Kyren," Shana informed her from the tavern's entrance. She walked inside with a basket of goods from the market. Tarik entered behind his mother, placing his own basket on a table. "Bellin is a good girl. She will not reveal any of your secrets; she has enough of her own."

Kyren glanced to Bellin, whose blue gaze was fixed on the floor between them. "In that case, Bellin, I need to ask you some questions. I apologize if you are uncomfortable with my bluntness, but I must find answers. Innocent lives may be lost if I cannot discover the information I need. Will you help me save my family?"

Bellin glanced up at her and Kyren was surprised to find the steely core hidden inside the soft-looking female in front of her. With a firm nod, Bellin said, "I will tell you everything."

And she did. Bellin did not speak overly much of the layout of the Red Keep, but Kyren did not object. She already knew most of the important information where the structure's entrances and hidden passageways were concerned. However, the most valuable insight Bellin revealed was of the inhabitants of the castle.

"The king grows more violent by the day," Bellin informed Kyren after speaking at length of how visiting Houses were spied upon. Kyren had been listening somewhat half-heartedly, caring little how the Lannisters were running the kingdom, but Bellin spoke with fear in her tone, and it drew Kyren's full attention. "He has always been spiteful toward his siblings and horrible to animals, but he seems determined to expand his repertoire, if you catch my meaning."

Kyren blinked, looking to Shana for an explanation, but the older woman merely watched her with a jaded expression. "I apologize, but I do not catch your meaning. What exactly has Joffrey done that causes you such discomfort?"

Bellin took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You know that the Stark girls are held in the Red Keep, correct? Last week, the king received word that Robb Stark has won yet another victory and he ordered one of his men to beat Lady Sansa, right there in the throne room with all those lords and ladies watching!"

Before she had even begun a rational thought process, Kyren had launched to her feet. Shana sent a warning look in her direction while Bellin simply appeared confused. With a herculean effort, Kyren sat once more at the table they had claimed for the duration of their discussion. "Please continue."

"Well, Lord Tyrion and the new Commander of the Watch stopped Ser Meryn before he could harm Lady Sansa."

"And Lady Arya?" Kyren prompted. "I have yet to hear you speak of her."

"None speak of her," Bellin told her, eyes wide. "It is widely accepted that Lady Arya is hidden somewhere in the castle, but none seem to know for certain where."

Kyren frowned at that. Why would Cersei treat Sansa so well, allowing the girl to appear so readily in the public eye, yet keep her second hostage hidden away? Unless Sansa was acting as bait for any who would attempt to rescue the Stark girls…

Before she could ruminate upon the theory for too long, Kyren's attention was claimed by Bellin once more - more specifically, by the way the girl's cheeks were stained a deep red. "There is something more," she whispered.

Kyren leaned forward, as did Shana. Tarik slid down from the isolated bench end he had claimed for his own at the beginning of their conversation. Kyren pushed away the realization that the motion had brought Tarik much closer.

"Two of Lord Baelish's whores were sent to service the king, a gift from his uncle."

Shana laughed once, harshly. "It seems as though there is more amiss with that boy than any frustrations in the bedroom."

"That is precisely the issue, ma'am," Bellin revealed. "He did not sleep with the women."

"What did he do?" Tarik asked, intrigued. It was the first time since her return that Kyren had heard him speak without an edge of anger in his voice.

Bellin glanced at the man and blushed still more intensely. "He forced one woman to beat the other. Both were greatly shaken by the experience, and so were the serving girls. That was when I decided that I must leave. If he was willing to harm women who work under the protection of a noble like Lord Baelish, what would prevent him from harming those under his own protection?"

"Wise of you," Kyren conceded. Despite her own feelings concerning Baelish, she could not argue that he was a man who took his obligations quite seriously. He doubtless had not been pleased by the harm that had come to two who were under his protection.

With so much new information to ponder - and a new sense of urgency - Kyren thanked Bellin for sharing what she knew and retired to her room. She had a heavily-coded message to write and send by raven to Winterfell, where hopefully, it could be sent on to Robb and Lady Catelyn's current location by Maester Luwin.

* * *

Hiding in plain sight was growing far easier than Kyren had ever dreamed possible. It was broad daylight and she stood in an open square of market in the King's Landing streets. What was more, she was well within sight of the Red Keep itself, the large buildings of the castle dominating what she could see of the sky.

Additionally, people in the more central location were much more talkative than the Flea Bottom folk. Obviously more dependent upon their relatively comfortable lifestyles to keep them safe, few appeared to possess any qualms about voicing their opinion. It was early in the day yet, but Kyren had already noted that - though these people seemed to lack the bitter hatred for the remaining royals expressed by those in Flea Bottom - the general consensus was that Joffrey was a weak and ineffectual leader who depended far too greatly on House Lannister and the strength of his armies. Naturally, Kyren was already aware of all this, but public opinion was crucial to the cause of the Starks. Robb's armies would eventually have to fight their way south, and if they were met by a people discontented with the current ruler, half the battle would be already won.

And so, with her duties already well toward finished, Kyren was content to mingle with the pressing crowds, watching and listening rather idly as people shopped and chatted. She had been in the process of information-gathering for nearly a full week now, and the time was rapidly approaching for her to infiltrate the Red Keep in her rescue attempt.

Bellin had even given Kyren directions to which of the handmaidens had been terrorized by Joffrey and were disillusioned by life in the castle - thus willing to betray the royal family with only minimal threats. Kyren was determined to save the Stark girls, and she would do much to return them safely to Lady Catelyn, but preventing the death of innocents was high on her list of priorities.

Abruptly, Kyren paused in every sense, thoughts grinding to a halt even as she stopped to press herself against a wall under the shadow from a faded blue canopy stretched over a market stall. She could only watch, frozen in the hope of avoiding notice as her wide eyes tracked the progress of two men across the crowded market square.

One man was utterly unfamiliar to her. His dark hair was slicked back in the style typical of lowborn men, but the lethal grace in his leanly-muscled body and the way his wary eyes scanned every inch of the square warned that he was no one who should be readily dismissed. She desperately schooled her expression into one of uncaring boredom when his gaze was turned in her direction, but Kyren feared that he had lingered a fraction of a moment longer on her than he had the others in the market. Never once during his assessment of the area did he pause in conversation with his companion.

Now, there was one Kyren did recognize, but the sight of his face caused a variety of emotions to cascade through her middle. Lord Tyrion Lannister looked much the same as he had so long ago at their last meeting on the Kingsroad before he departed north to the Wall with Jon. He seemed to have survived his time in Lady Catelyn's captivity rather unscathed, and appeared to be in much better condition than his brother in the cage Robb had built for him.

His face was a familiar one, and it brought sensations of warmth and well-regard, feelings that Kyren rapidly pushed down. If he was guilty of no other thing, Tyrion Lannister was still a member of the family that held Sansa and Arya hostage, the family that had killed Lord Stark. Though her rational mind informed her that the dwarf had not been in the city at the time of Lord Stark's death, Kyren did her best not to care. At this current moment, he was her enemy, as was the man beside him.

The very moment both men had disappeared from her sight, still deep in conversation, Kyren scurried back to Dyser's. It was high time she began forming plans to infiltrate the Red Keep.

* * *

"I confess myself less than shocked to hear that the people are angry with Joffrey," Tyrion revealed, glancing to his path. Being a dwarf was undignified enough as it was; tripping over debris on a path through the outer markets of King's Landing would place him firmly in fool territory. "His rule has brought nothing but pain, fear, and strife."

"And he's a cunt, besides," Bronn contributed.

"Yes, thank you Bronn," Tyrion responded dryly, "but my point is that I should not be blamed for the boy's shortcomings! I had considerably less contact with him than any other of our family and would have had still less if Cersei could have managed it. Why do the people persist in blaming me?"

"Dunno," Bronn said with a dismissive shrug before returning to his habitual scanning of their surroundings.

"Have I mentioned recently what a great help you've been to me?" Tyrion asked rhetorically. "I am truly fortunate for your keen insight into human nature."

Bronn sighed, turning a look on Tyrion that was filled with as much irritation as the dwarf's voice had been. "My guess? You just happen to be an easy target. Dwarves are seen as low beings, and you're in a high position. People are jealous and threatened, so they blame you for anything that goes wrong."

Tyrion found himself at a rare lack of response. He wanted to rail that such treatment was unfair, though he restrained himself. While he debated the merits of other retorts, Bronn shrugged again.

"Not that I agree with them, mind. When I see you around, the only part of me that feels threatened is my wineskin." Tyrion laughed in appreciation of Bronn's rare levity. "I may be in the minority, though. I've never seen a girl go as pale as the one in that last market. Looked like she had seen a ghost."

Frowning, Tyrion rubbed at a spot on his forehead that was beginning to ache. "That seems a rather extreme reaction. I cannot claim to know many young girls, unless she was a whore."

"Nah, too many clothes for a whore," Bronn dismissed. "She was a strange little thing, though. Looked like she don't get scared by much."

"Everyone is frightened by something," Tyrion countered. "For instance, I am greatly frightened by the idea of my nephew continuing to be in power. But, for the sake of argument, how does one know the fearlessness of a stranger at a glance?"

"The eyes. You can always tell by the eyes."

"And mine? Do I have fearless eyes?"

Tyrion twisted to blink rapidly up at Bronn, both chuckling at the poor impression of an insipid, somewhat less-than intelligent female.

"Not as fearless as hers," Bronn proclaimed, though he paused for a long moment then. "'Course, it could have been because her eyes looked the way they did. Maybe she has got as many fears as you do, my lord Hand."

"Was there something the matter with her eyes?" Tyrion asked curiously.

"No, they were just… strange."

"Strange…" Tyrion mused,memory sparked by the topic. "Perhaps even, 'witch's eyes'. But it could not - _she_ could not…"

"What are you nattering on about?" Bronn asked, black eyes flicking over their surroundings once more.

"I have decided that I should like to test myself. This girl, did she have red hair, a strong waist, and a crooked nose? Not pretty, though not entirely objectionable, either? Middling height?"

"Sounds about right, yeah."

"Bronn, I have a new task for you. I have reason to believe that the girl you saw was a member of Sansa Stark's extended family. I need you to - quietly - find her and bring her to my quarters."

"Consider it done."

* * *

Author's Note \- Ahhh! Bronn is one of my very favorite GoT characters and I hope I can do him justice! And the return of the Dysers! I'm actually really happy they're back. I love that little family.

Well, there were no reviews on the last chapter and no details that need clarification (at least, none that I am aware of), so that's it for this week. Thanks for reading, leave a review if you want to make a poor aspiring author very happy, and have a great day!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**The Worth Of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights belong solely to George R.R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Jaime found the glowing bird with little effort, hardly required to search for its faint light in order to jog in the correct direction. It was something of a miracle that he could sigh with such disappointment even while moving so rapidly; his physical body had deteriorated to the point that he no longer trusted the belief that his legs would support his weight without buckling even should he manage to escape Robb Stark's cage.

However, in this dark world of dreams, he arrived at the bird's Weirwood perch without incident. Had captivity in the Stark camp truly broken him so utterly that he could not even conjure a more entertaining form of escape? Instead, he dreamt of the same bird, the same tree, and the same darkness.

"Gods," he muttered lowly, now thoroughly in a bad mood. "This bird grows uglier by the day."

His voice, as always, echoed strangely in the black emptiness of his surroundings, but the croaking squawk of the bird nearly made Jaime jump free of his skin. The captive Lannister knight had dreamed of the bird for weeks on end, and yet this was the first time it had made a single sound.

When his heart had returned to a somewhat normal rhythm, Jaime could not help but grin at the creature. "Your voice is almost as unpleasant as your appearance. An impressive feat, though not one to which I would personally aspire."

Even as the taunt fell from his lips, the bird's glow began to brighten steadily. " No offense meant, my friend," Jaime added hastily, backpedaling physically as well as verbally.

His actions were fruitless, however. The ground itself seemed to twist and buck, forcing Jaime to stand at the very foot of the Weirwood tree. The bird's light grew more intense by the moment, until the radiance became truly painful to his eyes, yet Jaime could not look away.

When the radiance had filled his vision and he could see nothing more, it changed. Rather than an oddly blue hue filtered through the bird's thin skin between sparse feathers, it became a warm yellow, dancing and crackling in an almost merry way. Jaime blinked rapidly, fearing that the damage done to his vision had been sufficient that it caused him to hallucinate now - as much as one could hallucinate in a dream - but the sight did not disappear.

The bird was most definitely engulfed in flames.

Now released from the unnatural earthquake that had kept him trapped at the base of the tree, Jaime stepped back and reclined on the ground, shaking his head in bemusement. Yes, Robb Stark's cage most definitely must have broken his mind beyond repair if he was dreaming of phoenixes.

Dragons would be a far more respectable creature to dream of, if he were to be so fanciful. At least dragons had been a true creature that existed in Westeros, even if they _had_ died out long before Jaime was born. Phoenixes, by contrast, had never existed. They were a child's story, a nursery rhyme used to reward children who had not behaved like utter heathens that day. Jaime stood and moved to walk back into the empty darkness. He was no nursemaid, nor was he a child, and thus had no interest in such things.

As he walked away, Jaime heard a soft musical note, delicate and silvery as the loveliest birdsong. He glanced back over his shoulder before he could prevent the motion, and was met by an odd sight: the bird, apparently still alive in its cage of fire, stretched its neck and opened its diminished wings in a show of apparent joy.

Why the idea brought him such shock, he did not know. If his dream was following the stories he had been told as a child, the fire meant that the bird would be reborn in a younger body. He had simply assumed that any creature would find the process of burning to death less than pleasant, but why should the attitudes of a fairytale bird make logical sense?

Even as he moved to continue walking, the flames disappeared, leaving a tiny, peeping form sitting in a pile of scattered ashes. Telling himself that there was little more than idle curiosity in the motion, Jaime approached the Weirwood tree once more. The newly reborn phoenix stared down at him with bright eyes, energy apparent in every motion. It was much smaller than it had been before all of that fire nonsense, but much less flabby and deformed-looking. Grey down covered every bit of its skin.

Jaime attempted to shake the wonderment from his mind. This was a dream. Odd and repetitive, likely spawned from complete boredom and despair, but not real and certainly not prophetic. Staring at the small phoenix chick, so unlike anything he had ever witnessed in his waking life, Jaime wished for the first time that this dream would come to an end.

* * *

Kyren could count on one hand the number of instances on which she had seen Shana look surprised, but her look of shock when Kyren slammed into Dyser's was unmistakable. As Kyren collapsed onto a bench to rest her shaking knees, Shana dropped the cloth she had been using to wipe tables and rushed over.

"Kyren? What has happened?"

"I fear- It is nothing, Shana," Kyren hedged. Even as Shana shot her a look filled with disappointed incredulity, Kyren forced herself to think logically. If Tyrion somehow discovered her presence in King's Landing, the entire Dyser family and their business could be affected. Shana had a right to know what had happened.

"In truth, I fear I may have been discovered by a member of the royal family."

"Which one?" Shana asked mildly, despite the curious fear burning in her eyes.

"Tyrion Lannister."

"Ah," Shana said slowly, easing to a seat beside the younger girl. "Then perhaps the situation is salvageable. How certain are you that he saw you?"

"Not at all," Kyren admitted. "He did not appear to see me at all, but the man with him did. If he should mention me to Lord Tyrion, he is certainly clever enough to come to a correct conclusion."

"Who was the man with him?" Shana asked.

"I am uncertain; I have never seen him before. He was dark-haired and lean, and he moved with a confident menace."

"That was likely the new Commander of the City Watch, a man known as Bronn. He was a sellsword before he was awarded the position, and even that is due to a debt owed him by Tyrion Lannister. He is a man to be taken into careful consideration, but I believe your fears are undue. It is possible that he will not mention a random girl in the streets to such a powerful man."

"Powerful? Tyrion Lannister?" Kyren stared down at the table's scarred surface and gathered her thoughts as best she could. "He is extraordinarily clever and constantly underestimated despite his influential name, but I am uncertain how powerful he truly is without the might of House Lannister behind him."

Shana stared at her for a long moment, then tossed her head back in a splash of blue-black curls. "My dear girl," she finally said between chuckles, "Do you mean to tell me that you've been in King's Landing for nearly a fortnight and you have yet to discover that Tyrion Lannister has recently been named as the new Hand of the King?"

Kyren paused to digest the new information and ended with a wide grin on her face. "Much to the chagrin of Cersei Lannister, I would assume?"

"Naturally," Shana agreed. "However, Tyrion is in possession of the position only until his father returns from the front lines of the war with the north."

"Do the people of King's Landing believe the war to be such a lost cause, that Tywin Lannister is expected to return so shortly?"

"Not at all. In truth, most of the citizens see the war as a far-off oddity, interesting enough to provide a topic of conversation, though not much more." Shana watched her intently before adding, "I have heard talk between those who have seen wars and studied many more. They are of the opinion that Robb Stark possesses many tactical advantages and they believe that this war will not be won quickly or without great loss."

"I believe them to be correct," Kyren affirmed. "Though I also believe the war would be far more decisively won with the North having regained possession of the Stark girls. With or without the suspicions of the new Hand, I appear to have a limited amount of time in which to make my move against the Lannisters."

"And what of yourself?"

"My own safety is of little concern. Sansa and Arya must be returned to their family."

"I do not question that," Shana assured her, "but how will you occupy yourself afterward?"

"I- I intend to travel Westeros, protecting those who need protection." Kyren was nettled by the question, but far more so by her own hesitation.

Shana nodded understandingly. "Yes, but you could also return here. None know you as more than the girl from Dyser's. You would be safe."

"Safe, yes, but never more. There is nothing for me in King's Landing after I recover the Stark girls."

"There is more than you seem to realize," Shana countered. "Tarik feels deeply for you. He has worried for your safety each day since you first left us, and I know you care for him as well."

Kyren snorted. "Tarik has yet to speak a word to me that does not threaten to buckle under the weight of hostility."

"He was hurt that you could leave us so callously, but he has changed his tune since your discussion with Bellin. I believe he was too wrapped in his own troubles that he neglected to consider what must have been of such import to you." Shana's eyes glinted at her. "Now that he knows that you seek to protect the lives of ones you love, he seems determined to protect you as well."

"I do not need protection," Kyren denied sharply.

"Of course you do not, and if you did, there are many others who would serve the purpose with far more effect than Tarik. And yet, this is the first he has ever spoken of wanting to keep another safe, especially one outside our family. It is quite a notable change."

Equally as reluctant to deprive Shana of her delusions as she was to deceive the older woman, Kyren decided that blunt truth was best. "There is no future between Tarik and myself. I am sworn to the protection of Westeros."

"Could you not protect the people from here? Guard the streets of King's Landing? If the war is to make its way south, I am certain the city will need all the protectors it can find." Sensing Kyren's indecision, Shana added slyly, "Perhaps you could even serve as a guardian as a married woman."

Kyren shook her head. She was not one to share her misfortunes with others, but Shana was the closest she had found to a friend in quite some time - if a rather unorthodox friend - and this was already a quite honest conversation. "You would not want me for Tarik. I cannot bear children. He would never father true-born sons."

Shana snorted now. "The obsession with true-born children is an illness experienced only by nobles. The rest of Westeros knows what is truly important: children living good, safe lives. There are plenty of Flea Bottom children in need of homes. You could always take in a few if you feel a particular longing for family, but I know Tarik. Children or no, he wants you for his wife."

Though her first impulse was to immediately dismiss the possibility, Kyren forced herself to stop and consider what Shana said. Tarik had been distant since Kyren's return, but he was oddly insistent upon their speaking. More than once, he had attempted to tail her as she wandered to collect information. It was possible that Tarik still retained the feelings he had once claimed to hold for Kyren, but any true reconciliation was far off.

"I fear I would anger many should I choose to remain here," Kyren admitted.

"You will anger many regardless of where you travel," Shana said pragmatically. "You are a woman who is not beautiful and cannot bear children, both of those things women are told are required in order to live in this world. It is not so. You work as a man, fight as a man, make choices as a man does, and that will anger men the world over, but it does not mean that you should not do these things. It only means that you must work harder at them."

Kyren was stunned into utter silence, though it was no great loss as Shana merely patted her hand consolingly and left for the kitchen. Seated alone at the table, Kyren found herself battling back a wave of confused emotion. Always before, her childless destiny had been treated as a tragedy, a curse that would most certainly steal her future happiness. To have it so lightly dismissed - by a woman she admired, no less - was… freeing.

As she pondered the revelation, Bellin bustled into the room to begin preparing the room for the evening's crowds.

"Hello, Kyren," she greeted cheerfully. "Has it been a pleasant day for you? I almost wish I could have been outside. There was such a lovely breeze! But the kitchens have to be ready for the night. Millinna was not a kind woman, but she was clever in the kitchen and amassed a loyal group of followers. I believe, if they were deprived of her hare stew, they would surely burn this place to the ground!"

Cutting off Bellin's fond chuckle about the violence of the tavern's patrons, Kyren asked casually, "Bellin, have you kept any of your serving dresses?"

* * *

Kyren woke abruptly, the whole of her being on-edge within a single instant. She had retired to her attic quarters early, when crowds were only beginning to filter into the tavern, and attempted sleep. She would rise with the dawn to join the few serving girls who lived outside the Keep on their way to work. Dyser's was quiet at the moment and the hour was late, but the presence in her room had disturbed Kyren from her rest.

The person in question was no bumbling drunk, no passionate couple desperately lost to their surroundings. Rather, the trapdoor that served as the only entrance to Kyren's quarters had been raised with care, the intruder obviously taking pains to remain undetected.

Moving carefully in an attempt to avoid drawing the attention of the intruder, Kyren eased to her side, reaching for the sword she had carried since her departure from King's Landing. It lay frustratingly far from her, tucked into a scabbard besides, but arming herself was the only option Kyren had if she wished to survive the encounter.

With her fingertips a scant breath away from the sword's pommel, a boot pressed her hand to the floor. Before she could even begin to struggle, a the tip of a blade eased under her chin. Slowly, Kyren's gaze followed the length of the unfamiliar sword to find the black eyes of the man she had seen accompanying Tyrion Lannister in the market earlier that day. Shana had named him as Bronn.

With her other hand - the one under the rough-spun blanket rather than the Bronn's foot - Kyren subtly began groping for one of the daggers strapped around her waist, but the sword at her throat pressed into her until she felt the skin give. Her stomach dropped as she braced for an unpleasant death.

"None of that love," he said in a low voice that still managed to convey his amusement. "I'd hate to hurt such a pretty little thing, but I will if you make me. I do have orders, you know. Both hands where I can see 'em."

Obligingly, Kyren moved her other hand out from under the blanket and tugged at the one still trapped under Bronn's filth-crusted boot. He smirked as he allowed her to struggle for a moment, but lifted his foot enough for her to draw her hand to rest atop the blanket with the other.

"Now, what is that?" he asked, nodding toward a dress in the corner.

"A serving girl's dress," she answered briefly.

Bronn chuckled softly. "Is that how you planned to sneak into the castle and steal the Stark girl back?" With effort, Kyren managed not to gape openly, but he still seemed amused. "It will do. Put it on."

Now, Kyren forced herself to be more expressive than was typical for her. With a horrified face, she shook her head, allowing the motion to be frantic. "Surely you cannot expect me to dress under the gaze of a strange man?"

His eyes flicked over her form. "You hardly seem the type who would object."

Kyren's offended gasp was far less contrived now. "How dare you? I object a great deal. I will not bare myself to a man I have never before met!" His eyebrow quirked sardonically and her cheeks burned. "Among other reasons, of course."

"'Course," he agreed easily, despite the smirk he still wore. "I doubt your honesty, but never let it be said that Bronn forced a woman to shrug off her sense of propriety." With a flourish and an expectant air, he turned his back.

"You cannot be in earnest!" Kyren said, perhaps more loudly than was prudent. "I will not trust my reputation and privacy to the belief that you will not so much as turn your head!"

Bronn sighed frustratedly and turned back to her. "Truth is, if even half of what I have heard of you is true, you are too dangerous to be left alone, even for only a moment."

Kyren colored slightly and looked up at him with wide eyes. Never before had she wished so deeply to be underestimated, but now - with only a blanket for protection against a man who oozed danger - he believed her to be a threat? Her timing, as ever, was impeccable.

With a lazy shrug, he offered, "Last chance: either you dress now and I turn my back, or you keep arguing and end up giving me a show." A sudden, roguish grin crossed his face. "I never mind seeing a pair of tits."

After a surprisingly minimal session of argument and awkwardness, Kyren was fully clad in the serving girl's dress and had become so without Bronn spotting the dagger-filled corset she wore. As the pair passed through the residential floor of Dyser's, Bronn's luck failed him once more as a door opened to reveal Tarik.

Drowsiness abruptly clearing from his eyes, Tarik stepped forward, focused the stout, ill-formed dagger Bronn pressed to Kyren's side to force her movement.

"What the fuck are you doing with her?" he snarled. The fierceness in his tone took even Kyren aback for a moment, but did not appear to throw Bronn in the slightest.

With a condescending laugh, the man said, "Urgent business at the castle. Go back to bed, boy."

Tarik's face darkened, but Shana soon emerged into the hall as well.

"Tarik? To whom do you sp- Ah, Bronn. No dramatics, yes?"

"None at all, my lady," Bronn agreed with a bow. The dagger at Kyren's ribs did not move during any of the banter or movements. Apparently choosing to ignore the argument erupting behind them, Bronn forced her to continue along their path to the Red Keep. "You must be something special, girl."

Kyren did not answer, which must have served as answer enough, for he continued undeterred.

"The boy was undressed, not a weapon to be found, and still, he was willing to face an armed man to keep you safe." His tone grew thoughtful. "The real question is why I did not find you in his chambers rather than tucked away in the attic."

"You can release me or you can kill me," Kyren said in her hardest tone, "but you cannot force me to listen to your bizarre theories and baseless accusations."

He stared down at her for a long moment, but shrugged and glanced back toward their path. "Suit yourself. Just an observation."

Returning to the Red Keep was equally as disconcerting as her first entrance had been; possibly more so, as she entered with the knowledge of her recent failures. The walls towered over her, foreboding in the grey light of the pre-dawn hour. Every echo of their footsteps, tossed crisply back by the cold stone halls, reminded Kyren of the hopeless reality that filled her current situation. Yet, each time that hopelessness attempted to enter her, Kyren steeled herself with the knowledge that she was merely biding her time until she could make a move against her captor. Time was running short, however. Kyren knew that she would never allow herself to be brought before Cersei Lannister - or Joffrey, for that matter - without a struggle, ill-planned as it may have to be.

When Bronn turned his back, tapping subtly at a door nearly hidden in the shadows, Kyren seized the opportunity. Darting a hand through the strategic tear she had made in the ill-fitting waist of her dress, Kyren retrieved a dagger and slashed at Bronn.

Apparently receiving some odd premonition about her movements, Bronn moved away in time to prevent Kyren from slitting his throat. She was able to land a blow, however, and Bronn hissed as she opened a gash nearly the entire length of his upper arm.

Rather than nurse his wound as Kyren had expected of a softened Commander of the City Watch, Bronn cursed sharply and acted without further hesitation, catching her by the throat before she could dodge away as he had. He pushed her against the stone of the wall, and Kyren was so preoccupied with preventing another head injury that she nearly missed the way his grip was slowly tightening.

In moments, she was gasping for breath, but fighting all the while. She kicked and slashed at every inch of him in reach, all without avail. She had just set herself to the task of severing the tendons in his forearm when the door beside her opened and a familiar face emerged.

"Bronn," Tyrion Lannister admonished sharply, "What _are_ you doing?"

Bronn turned from the struggling Kyren to Tyrion, disbelief on his face. "She stabbed me!"

"Yes, people do such things when they believe they are fighting for their lives," he explained patronizingly. "Bring her inside, and we will explain matters properly."

* * *

Author's Note \- Hey, everyone! I'm back, but only briefly. Updates are unfortunately going to be a bit more sporadic than I would prefer because I'm going back to school! I apologize for disappearing on you, but between finalizing all the paperwork and continuing my job, I lost any time I had in which to write. I'll be publishing chapters as often as possible, but again, they will likely be sporadic.

In any case, thank you for reading! As always, I would be glad to hear feedback you have on this or any previous chapter, and thank you all for sticking with this story despite the large gap in updates. Have a merry Christmas!


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**The Worth Of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

Kyren entered the room warily, glancing around at the sumptuous chambers with the air of one who expects to be attacked at any moment. And why should she feel differently? She knew Tyrion Lannister, had trusted him, but that was an eternity ago. She had no real reason to trust him now when she was in the Red Keep, literally surrounded by enemies.

"Please, Kyren, have a seat," Tyrion urged.

Kyren ignored the invitation in favor of retreating to a somewhat safe distance before turning to confront her kidnappers. "Am I to assume from your cordiality that you do not intend to turn me over to your sister? To harm me? To see my lose my head as Lord Stark lost his?"

Tyrion grimaced. "The use of the term 'Lord' when speaking of Ned Stark has rather fallen out of favor of late in King's Landing." Kyren stared down at him stonily and he sighed. "Wrong audience, I am certain, but you need to be aware if you intend to remain hidden."

"Hiding in King's Landing is not my intention," Kyren informed him icily.

Bronn gave a hearty laugh. "I like this one. And I've changed me mind; she was not afraid of you in the city. I believe she may have just been looking for a chance to get rid of you more permanently."

"No," Kyren disagreed. "I bear no ill will toward Lord Tyrion. I simply have a task to perform and I will not allow anyone to stop me."

Tyrion sighed once more. "Your task is the very reason I had Bronn bring you here. I will explain more thoroughly in a moment; we have only to wait for our last arrival."

The three stood in a silence that seemed to possess its own heartbeat until it was halted by a soft knock on the door. Tyrion set a thick finger against his own lips and opened the door just enough to put his head through the crack. A muffled conversation took place in the hall then, leaving Kyren and Bronn to stare uncomfortably at one another.

At last, Tyrion said, "I did ask that you trust me."

With that, he opened the door and stepped back. First through the door was a pretty, dark-eyed woman who glanced at Kyren, then to Bronn. When the latter gave a slight nod, she moved aside and allowed a second woman to enter.

"Sansa?" Kyren gasped. In the moment that passed before Sansa's so-familiar eyes searched her out, Kyren studied the girl she had been raised alongside. Obviously just pulled from her bed, Sansa's hair was in a simple braid rather than the more sophisticated Southern styles she had favored since the royal family had arrived at Winterfell. She looked like the younger Sansa Kyren remembered, but such an appearance also brought back memories of Sansa's consistently antagonistic behavior - and that had been before Kyren had failed to protect Lord Stark.

Without waiting for the female Stark to acknowledge her presence, Kyren knelt in front of her. "Lady Sansa, I offer you my life. I failed to protect your father or your family. If you should decide it is right to kill me, I fully expect you shall do so."

Kyren waited in the silent room, head lowered in a way that was designed to offer her neck if Sansa chose, but she felt the slight movements in the air as Sansa lowered herself to Kyren's level, grasping her hands to pull her to her feet once more.

When both stood, Sansa surveyed Kyren with warm blue Tully eyes and said, "I understand what happened then. You were only doing as my father thought best. You were given orders, and you are guilty of nothing more than following them."

Kyren squeezed Sansa's hands before they drew apart. "I have been given new orders. Your mother demands that I bring you back to her."

Sansa glanced over her shoulder at Tyrion, who seemed to be in deep conversation with Bronn and the woman, but they were still easily within earshot. She drew Kyren farther into the chambers until they could settle into well-padded chairs placed around a table with an ornate bottle of alcohol in its center.

"I cannot return with you, Kyren." With a slender hand raised, she halted Kyren's protests. "I know Robb's armies are working their way South and they are predicted to reach King's Landing within two years. This city is mighty and its citizens strong, but if I remain here, I may be able to lessen the resistance Robb encounters. That is of far more importance than leaving."

"I understand your logic and I applaud your sense of purpose, but this is an incredibly poor choice," Kyren argued. "You will be used as a hostage and a deterrent long before Robb arrives at King's Landing."

"Doubtful," Sansa said coolly, kicking up her chin. She had never looked so much like Lady Catelyn as she did in that moment. "Despite all that has happened, I am still set to be wedded to Joffrey."

"That is a problem as well," Kyren interjected, but Sansa ignored her.

"As queen, I will have the means to give my own orders and have them followed to the letter. The very moment I become queen, I shall plant spies and loyal parties throughout the city. Even if I am locked away, Robb shall never lack the help he needs." She leaned forward, catching Kyren's gaze with her own. "I cannot return North, knowing that I could have assisted my brother and did not. I am weary of running away like a frightened child whenever I face opposition. You are lovely for being concerned, but my mind is quite made up."

"With all respect, my lady, I have had this conversation once before when I was attempting to urge your father to flee King's Landing." There was a flash of sorrow in Sansa's blue eyes and Kyren felt an answering twinge of guilt, but pressed onward. "I shall forever regret not attempting to convince him further, but I would long for death if a similar thing happened now and I had failed to learn from the first instance. Please, Lady Sansa, leave this place behind you and return home to your family. Robb is clever and the North is strong. They can win this war even without your help."

"But not without far too much bloodshed," Sansa argued. "And while the topic is brought to the forefront, there is no means of escape from the Red Keep, not for two women of high profile. Never believe that the queen has stopped searching for you as well. It is far better that you leave and tell my mother of my choice. Tell her that I am honing the strength she passed to me and avenging father."

"Very well," Kyren agreed at last. "I shall tell her what you ask, but what of Arya? Should she not have a say in your rescue?"

Sansa frowned back at her. "Arya? No one has seen Arya since the day my father was captured."

They sat in a charged silence for a long moment, both lost in their own thoughts and realizations. Abruptly, Sansa's voice lowered, becoming more urgent. "Kyren, listen to me. You must not search for Arya."

"My lady!" Kyren said, shocked. How could Sansa suggest such a thing, especially concerning her own sister?

"No, Kyren, you misunderstand. I want Arya safe as much as any of my family, but every question you ask leaves a clearer trail for Cersei to follow. People talk, and the queen has many spies."

"She is right, you know," Tyrion said suddenly, appearing at Kyren's elbow. "Cersei would do much to win our brother back unharmed, and she stands a much better chance with two hostages than she does with one. If there is any hint of a lead about the whereabouts of Arya Stark, she would follow it."

Bronn nodded, remarking helpfully, "She has had the boneyards searched twice for a body."

Kyren made a strangled sound and Tyrion hastened to add, "Not that she has found one, of course! As far as anyone can tell, Arya simply disappeared. It is an enviable position for one with such powerful relatives, but Lady Sansa makes an excellent point: with every step you take toward locating Arya, Cersei will be following until she is in a position to seize her and demand Jaime's return."

"I mean no disrespect, but how is it that you believe we should trust you?" Kyren asked. "Jaime is your brother as well. You cannot be pleased that Robb has held him captive for such a length of time."

"I care for my brother a great deal," Tyrion explained cautiously. "However, at the risk of appearing callous, I believe that the insult of his captivity is less important than the peace of Westeros. I do not believe one man to be worth starting a war that could decimate this continent, regardless of whether he bears the name 'Lannister'."

"I do not think you callous. Rather, I believe your practicality is to be commended," Kyren admitted bitterly. "If only your family were so reasonable."

"One could say the same of the Starks," Tyrion remarked blithely. Kyren inclined her head in acknowledgement of his point and he grimaced anew. "I apologize for being callous in truth, but I am afraid that it is time for you to depart, Kyren. If we have any hope of releasing you unseen in King's Landing, it must be soon. The sun will rise before long and there will be far too many eyes."

"Of course," Kyren agreed. "If I could have only a moment to make my goodbyes?"

After the other three had withdrawn to the opposite end of the sumptuous chambers, Kyren turned back to Sansa. "Are you certain of this, my lady? I will continue searching for a way to smuggle you to freedom if you only say the word."

Sansa enveloped Kyren in a tight embrace. "Your loyalty will not be forgotten, Kyren, not so long as I live. Be safe and go well."

* * *

The pre-dawn sky was brightening considerably when Kyren slipped through the doors of Dyser's. The room was hushed in the blue light of early morning and she wanted nothing more than to climb the flights of stairs required to return to her room. The thin pallet she used for sleep was crying out for her and it was a call Kyren dearly wished to answer.

"You've returned! What happened?"

Before the last word had slipped from Tarik's lips, Kyren - startled by his sudden appearance - had turned sharply and lashed out with a firmly-curled fist. Tarik stumbled back slightly, one hand pressed to the spot on his breastbone that she had struck so firmly, and slowly lowered himself to sit on the hard floorboards.

"Tarik! I am so sorry! Are you well?"

Tarik blinked up at her from his place on the floor, fingers gingerly massaging the bruise that would certainly form, and began to chuckle. The sound began so lowly that she was uncertain whether it was real, but his mirth grew until he was laughing aloud and the noise of it bounced from the corners of the empty room.

Exhausted, confused, and oddly guilty, Kyren collapsed onto the floor as well.

"I can only apologize, Tarik," she said helplessly, lying flat on her back as she stared at the raw timbers of the ceiling. "I feel I have much to apologize for, but I know not how."

Tarik settled back onto the floor as well, considering the ceiling from beside Kyren as he spoke. "I am in much the same situation. I feel I've been- well- I've been a prick, to be blunt about it. I know how you prefer people to be blunt."

A glance from the corner of her eye told Kyren that he was grinning, that familiar smirk that had always seemed full of joy and contentment.

Unbidden, her lips twitched into an answering smile. "So, in the interest of being blunt, how do we move on from this awkwardness?"

Tarik sighed softly. "I was hurt when you left, hurt and fearful for your safety. I reacted poorly when you returned and I apologize." His voice dropped to a low murmur. "I have never been more frightened as when I saw you leave with Bronn."

"I cannot fight the suspicion that your mother is familiar with Bronn. Am I correct?"

"You are. He has visited Dyser's every time he found himself in King's Landing for many years. He likes drink and women, though he does not handle either very well. To see him with you boded ill for any of a number of reasons. Where did he take you?"

"The Red Keep, actually."

Tarik sat up. "What?! How could he? However did you escape?"

Kyren leaned up on one elbow. "Tarik, please," she urged, tugging on the shoulder of his tunic. "I fear I am far too comfortable to contemplate a change in position."

When he had settled beside her once more, she told him, "There was no daring escape from the Red Keep. Bronn took me to speak with Tyrion Lannister and he allowed me to see Sansa. When we had spoken and caught up, I was allowed to leave."

"So you consider the situation resolved?" he asked. "You are content to leave her here with that terror of a king?"

"Of course not!" Kyren denied vehemently. "I would give anything to take Sansa with me, to return her to Lady Catelyn as I was ordered. However, she refuses to leave."

"What is your next move?" Tarik asked, craning his neck along the floor to stare at her curiously.

Kyren rubbed at one brow. "I suppose I should travel North once more. Lady Stark must know of her daughter's plans and the information is too delicate to be sent by raven."

"I should not be shocked to find that you plan to leave," Tarik remarked ruefully.

"I am sorry, Tarik. We seem to have only just reconciled and I must go yet again." Kyren was uncertain of why she felt the need to apologize, but surely one more apology could not cause any further injury?

"Once again, I find I must gather the courage to be blunt," Tarik revealed. After a deep breath, he sat up to say, "I admit that I hold a very warm regard for you and I have half-convinced myself that you feel similarly. Is there any hope of a future together? Would you even want such a thing?"

Kyren smiled as best she could through the tears which threatened to spill. "Oh, Tarik. You are lovely to even ask such a thing. I think, if things were different, I would have treasured the chance of a life with you."

"Yet..?" he asked with a sad sort of expectation.

"Yet I am afraid I cannot. How would you react if Shana had been captured by a hostile force? Could you leave Bracks to rescue her without aid?"

He allowed the silence to stand for a long moment. "I would want to." His gaze flicked to her, studying every inch of her face. " _Gods_ , would I want to. I see your point, however."

Perversely, his kind manner made Kyren's eyes well. She had been honest when she thanked Tarik for his offer. He would have been exactly the sort of husband she would have chosen for herself if such a thing were possible. She knew he would never seek to dominate her, to steal away any autonomy the way some men did. If things were different… Oh, how she wished things were different!

Sniffling, she pushed abruptly to her feet. "I pray you'll excuse me. I feel that a short nap will do wonders for me."

Tarik stood as well. "I believe I shall return to my bed as well. I found that I could not sleep after you left."

Kyren smiled up at him, grateful for his easy manner despite all that had occurred such a painfully short time ago. They walked in companionable silence to the second story of the house. Kyren gave Tarik a nod and a fond smile before she moved to turn away, but he caught at her wrist, pulling her slowly, gently, back to him.

Blue eyes closed as his face eased toward hers. Dimly, Kyren recognized that he was offering her a chance to resist, to refuse his kiss and leave, but she found that was the last thing she wanted. Instead, she wound her fingers through his wild black hair and tugged his face to hers at a greater speed. He made a small noise of surprise at her enthusiasm, leaving his lips parted when they made their first contact. She soon matched him, opening her mouth just enough to create an extremely interesting kiss.

A sound broke them apart, only to find Shana watching them with gleeful contentment written across her face. "By all means, do not allow me to interrupt."

Kyren blushed, but Tarik bent to place his lips at her ear. "Forgive me, Kyren. I could not have lived if I had not experienced your embrace at least once."

With that, he pulled away, the two separating slowly as sweets on a hot day until he closed the door to his room.

Shana stepped closer, noting with satisfaction Kyren's parted lips and mussed hair. "Shall I take this as confirmation that you've come to an arrangement with my son? Shall you be my daughter at long last?"

"No, no. Nothing of the kind," Kyren denied with a dreamy sort of smile.

Shana's eyes widened before she gave an appreciative laugh. "My dear girl! I never took you as _that_ sort… I admire you!"

Kyren gaped at the older woman, taken aback not only by the woman's assumption that she had lain with a man so casually, but her easy acceptance of the idea! Shana truly was a revolutionary. Shaking her head, Kyren stepped back toward the staircase leading to her rooms in the attic. "I believe I will take my leave. I need some rest."

Cackling, Shana waved her on. "I am certain you do! Rest easy."

Kyren continued to her quarters, cheeks burning with the implications of the saucy wink Shana had sent her before she turned away.

* * *

Jaime had ceased dreaming of anything other than the damned phoenix. He had ceased having even the option to move in a direction opposite his small glowing foe; despite the variety of paths he took through the empty darkness, he always ended up with the bird at the end of his path in that logic-lacking way that was typical of dreams.

When he had reached the Weirwood tree, he slumped against the smooth coolness of its thick trunk and did his best to ignore the inquisitive chirping above his head. The phoenix seemed to recognize him at this point in their odd acquaintance and seemed to almost glory in his hatred for it.

With a small ticking noise, the phoenix clicked its black beak and peeped welcomingly at Jaime.

"Do be silent," he barked half-heartedly. The cursed thing occasionally chirped and sang like a songbird, but at other times would crackle and snap as if it were itself made of fire. He glared up at the creature, irritated - as always happened when he was unfortunate enough to dream rather than fall unconscious due to exhaustion - but he was tired more than anything. With his voice lacking any heat, the phoenix paid no mind to the bitter man lying against the base of its tree.

The bird paused its contented chirping occasionally to peek over the edge and ensure that an audience was still present before continuing once more.

 _So this is how it ends…_ Jaime thought venomously. _I've survived nearly a year in Robb Stark's foul camp only to be driven finally mad by a bird present solely in my dreams. What a legacy._

Abruptly, his mind offered him a snippet of a memory: Kyren Asheworth stood before him, parchment eyes beseeching and gentle. _What great deeds have you performed?_

It had been an innocent question, no offense meant, but it had cut Jaime to the quick. What great deeds had he performed? The simple answer was 'none'. Somehow, the girl had known his secret malcontent; this naive thing had sussed out in the length of a day what his family still had yet to uncover. He had no truly heroic deeds to his name, no grand legacy to pass down, save that of his most-hated moniker. _Kingslayer._ It was of no matter, however. His legacy, such as it was, would never be passed down to another. He had no children, none that he could acknowledge at any rate, for their safety and his own. And now he never would.

 _No!_ If Jaime Lannister was to meet his end in the camp of an enemy, it would be fighting. The thought was accompanied by a toss of his head and an audible snort.

At the sound, the phoenix stopped its soft noises and movements in the tree in favor of perching on the edge of its nest to peer at Jaime. He studied it in return, admitting to himself that - for a mental construct at least - it was a rather diverting creature.

The long feathers that covered its body were an ashy grey, but the base of each appeared to be red. The color only became apparent when the bird was in motion, giving it an odd appearance of slightly-glowing coals. A cruelly-sharp black beak dominated its face, a perfect mirror to its black, generously-taloned feet. Set amid all the dark tones were the phoenix's eyes, a yellow as bright as the flames that had engulfed it once and would do so again.

At the moment, those bright eyes regarded him with an air of concern - an impressive feat for a bird - but Jaime was far too preoccupied with his own schemes and ideas. It was high time he planned his escape. If he failed, he would force the Stark armies to kill him. He had seen his future in this particular dream, and death was preferable to an existence as a babbling, broken-minded fool. The phoenix's soft pops and whoosh of a blazing fire followed him as he made his escape back to the waking world.

* * *

Author's Note \- Well, here's another sporadic update! Welcome news, however: this chapter was originally more than twice this length before I decided that twelve pages of plot-heavy fanfic was probably a bit much to throw at you guys. As a result, I have another chapter that will be posted next week after it's been edited and whatnot. Yay!

Confession time! First, I just finished watching the last episode of Season 7. Not re-watching, but seeing for the first time. Yeah, I was telling the whole truth when I said I'm a recent fan. Second confession, I'm a little concerned that my pacing is off at the moment. I feel like things are dragging a bit, but they're going to pick up soon, I promise. We'll be skipping through a lot of Season 3 (too much of the plot happens behind closed doors), so the timeline will get a little shady - I'll probably have more information about that in future author's notes. Anyway, I'm honestly getting concerned about the lack of reviews I'm receiving for this story compared to how many views I see. If this is getting boring, someone please let me know so I can put it out of its misery!

And with that, we're done for the week. Thanks for reading, reviews are love, and have a great day! See you all soon!


	21. Chapter Twenty

**The Worth Of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights belong solely to George R.R. Martin, HBO, and their publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Twenty

"I apologize, ma'am, but I was sent to be sure that you do not enter the Red Keep."

Kyren surveyed the dark-haired youth who stood in her way. His round face and soft-looking body showed a late interest in squire-dom, as well as an overwhelming amount of naivety. She allowed her face to show her disdain. "And they sent _you_ to stop me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, seeming almost embarrassed. "Lord Tyrion said to pass on his regrets and to assure you that the Lady Sansa is safe. He would prefer to be here himself, but there are other matters that require his attention. Also," he shifted uncomfortably as his face reddened, "He said to tell you that your dress would never allow you pass as a maid as it is hopelessly ill-fitting."

Despite her own anger and frustration, Kyren could not help but to laugh at that, calmed despite herself by Tyrion's assurances of Sansa's well-being. "I suppose I should have expected him to say such a thing. What is your name? If I am to be insulted, I prefer to know the one saying such things."

"Podrick Payne, ma'am, Pod for sake of brevity. Squire to Lord Tyrion Lannister," he explained with an awkward-looking bow. "But I am not the one insulting you; Lord Tyrion insisted that I relay his words to you verbatim."

"I believe you, Pod. And why send you rather than Bronn? Has he become frightened of me since our last encounter?"

Pod cocked his head to the side, seeming rather puzzled by the question. "I am sorry, I haven't heard anything about another encounter between the two of you."

"Have you seen the new injury to his arm?" Karen asked with no small amount of pride, though she did attempt to hide it.

His expression cleared as he asked, "The kitten scratch?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Bronn's arm… he said he was scratched by a kitten."

Kyren swore in a most unladylike manner and Pod shuffled his feet. "I did not believe him, but Bronn isn't the sort of man who accepts being called a liar."

Grimacing, Kyren gave a short nod. "Ill-fitting as my dress may be, I still must enter the castle. Surely Tyrion warned you that this would be a possibility?"

"Indeed I did," Tyrion agreed, slipping from the doorway she and Pod were posted before. "That is why I concluded my urgent business with such haste. I guessed it would not take long for you to begin threatening my squire."

"Tyrion, you know as well as I that I will not leave until I have seen her."

He sighed, rubbing with stubby fingers at the space between his brows. "Kyren, you know that you cannot possibly see her. Security is high. It is nothing short of a miracle that you've managed to stand here so long without being discovered by one of my sister's guards-"

"You wish to speak of miracles?" Kyren asked, thunder in her voice. "I think it a miracle that Sansa was not harmed when your nephew started a _riot_ in the middle of King's _fucking_ Landing! And who protected her? Not him, not you, not any of the useless guards you think to threaten me with - no! It was the fucking _Hound_ who went searching for her, and only the Seven know why he had the sense to do so. You all would have left her to those animals without a second thought!"

"I would have you know that I was in the midst of sending men back to aid her when I was brutally attacked by my own nephew-!"

"Sending men _back_!" Kyren shouted over Tyrion's attempted explanation. "Meaning that you left without her and thought of her well-being only when you had reached safety."

"I- I did not-" Tyrion fell silent and sighed once more. "I behaved in a very self-absorbed manner. I was admittedly more concerned with my own safety rather than that of Sansa and I regret that with all of my being, but I cannot allow further damage to be done. I cannot allow you to enter this castle, knowing that you would suffer much the same fate as Lord Stark, perhaps worse if my sister could manage it."

Kyren's ready retort fell from her tongue as she found herself taken aback by Tyrion's use of the term he had stated to be dangerous when referring to Eddard Stark. It was enough for Tyrion to get a second wind.

"Please, Kyren, leave this place. It is for your own safety. If this can serve as any consolation, Sansa herself wishes for you to leave. She says that she could not bear to lose another member of her family to King's Landing."

"And how am I meant to believe you?" Kyren asked sadly.

"As it happens, I do have a token from her," Tyrion said, offering a thin book bound in well-worn leather. Kyren accepted it with shaking fingers, understanding Sansa's meaning before Tyrion could give his explanation. "She asked that you send it on to her mother. She said that it has long been time for her to leave her childish dreams behind."

When Kyren could finally tear her gaze from the achingly-familiar cover of the book - Sansa's most constant companion in her youth - she could only fix Tyrion with her most solemn gaze and ask, "You will watch for her? Keep her safe?"

Tyrion pressed one hand to his heart and bowed over it. "You have my word that I shall never again leave her in danger when I can prevent it."

Kyren nodded. "I thank you."

Before she could turn to make good her departure, Tyrion placed a hand on her forearm. "I apologize, Kyren, but I am afraid I must deliver yet more unwelcome news. There are rumors that Winterfell has been taken in its weakened state."

The entirety of the Red Keep tilted. "Winterfell? Taken? By whom?" Kyren asked dazedly.

"A contingent of Ironborn men, led by Theon Greyjoy himself," Tyrion told her, voice gentle.

"But Bran and Rickon… They remained at Winterfell…"

"I am told he has likely taken both boys captive, to be used as leverage."

"I will kill him," Kyren said firmly, fingers already itching to grasp for her daggers.

"Far be it from me to dissuade you," Tyrion agreed. "I assume you will stop at the Crossroads Inn on your journey? I will gather any news I come across and send a raven to meet you there in seven days."

Kyren stared at Tyrion with suspicion. A journey to the Crossroads from King's Landing would require the travel of a few days, not nearly a full week.

Tyrion, however, only gave a self-satisfied smile. "You will likely not leave until the wee hours of tomorrow and I assume you will insist upon searching for Arya along the way. I predict your journey will require at least seven days, if not a few extra. For all that you and I never spent a great deal of time together, I understand you, Kyren. Go. Protect this family you've taken as your own. We both know you will never be satisfied with less."

* * *

As soon as Kyren returned to Dyser's, she began to pack her few belongings in anticipation of catching a few hours of sleep before her departure. As if summoned by her own snarled thoughts, Tarik appeared in her doorway only a short time afterward.

He watched her in silence for several long minutes before he finally spoke. "You are leaving, then?"

"We both knew the time was approaching," Kyren said with a smile to soothe the harsh words. "I am needed elsewhere and there is little to be gained by waiting."

"I had hoped that there would be some days of peace before you were called away once more," Tarik admitted. "Will you be in danger?"

Kyren shrugged uncomfortably. "There is an element of danger to life, Tarik. You should understand. You live in a tavern in Flea Bottom!"

He did not smile at her jest. "I wish only for your safety. To that end, is there nothing I could do to assist you?"

"Nothing," she returned, carefully avoiding his gaze now. When he said nothing further, she sighed. "I find myself at a loss. What can I say to convince you that I will survive this journey? That I lack nothing I have not lacked before?"

"You could say that you wish for me to accompany you," Tarik ventured. At Kyren's stare, he grew defensive. "And why could I not? You've said that you wish we could have a life together, but you have factors preventing you from staying. Well, I have none that prevent me from leaving. I could travel with you, protect you, care for you…"

Her heart twisting at that last murmured offering, Kyren shook her head ruefully. "Tarik, you have no fighting experience and know little of riding. Taking you with me would almost certainly be a death sentence for you, if not for both of us."

Tarik sighed, raking fingers through his already-wild hair. "You could have just said 'no'."

Kyren set down the pack she had been holding and approached Tarik, smiling as she reached up to smooth his hair back into a semblance of order. "Would it help if I said I simply could not bear to put you in danger?"

"Perhaps," he whispered, fighting a smile of his own as he ducked his head to capture her lips.

"Bracks tells me that you intend to leave, Kyr- Oh." Shana's strident voice reached them at the same moment, driving them apart. "I can return at a later time?"

"Mother," Tarik complained, laughing even through his exasperation. "Your timing is the bane of my existence."

"And yours is to be commended?" Shana shot back. "You should have bedded this girl the moment she returned, but you spent precious days pouting!"

Tarik groaned, cheeks reddening while Kyren could not help but laugh. Still shaking her head in despair for her younger son, Shana turned to the girl. "So was Bracks correct? Do you plan to leave us tomorrow?"

"I do, yes," Kyren affirmed, marveling at Bracks's superb hearing. "As you can see, I am gathering my belongings now."

Shana glanced around at Kyren's invitation, but soon returned her hazel gaze to meet Kyren's. "As always, your stay here passed far too quickly for my liking. Consider yourself ordered to return here when you next pass through King's Landing. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am, and thank you. Your gracious hospitality is appreciated more dearly than you could know."

"Not only my hospitality, I would wager," Shana added saucily, throwing a wink in Tarik's direction. "But come downstairs. It is the least we can do to send you off with a warm meal in your belly and plenty of provisions. Leastways, Bellin and Bracks will have my head if I allow you to leave without making proper goodbyes."

* * *

Though lone late-hour travelers were hardly a rarity in King's Landing, Kyren took pains to remain beneath notice, wearing a freshly-dyed traveling cloak and wrapping Sotam's hooves in cloth. Her clothing was nondescript and all belongings of any value were carefully tucked away.

Even so close to the rough side of dawn, a handful of people straggled through the streets of Flea Bottom. Kyren soon found herself trapped behind a group of four drunks, weaving and stumbling their way across the uneven ground. She was unwilling to draw unnecessary attention to herself by dodging around them and grew even more confident in her decision as she realized what the men were talking about.

"I mean it! The royal family goes running, nobles scattering in every direction- Chaos!"

"I know more than a few who got a good handful of royal arse that day," one of the men agreed with a guffaw.

"None more than me!" one man bragged in a slurring drawl. "That redheaded bitch. She was a real prize."

"Oh, go on, Rechar!" the others jeered.

"That one weren't touched by a soul."

"Always need to pretend you got the best."

"No, really!" Rechar insisted. "She was frigid as the North - at first. She was moaning soon enough-"

Kyren's blood boiled over before she could think better of taking the boasts of a drunken man at face value. Releasing Sotam's lead, she pulled a dagger from her corset and flung it in a single moment. The unfortunately talkative Rechar stumbled once and put his hand to his throat, fingers finding only the tip of a blade thrust through it. He choked, dropping to his knees before collapsing pathetically onto the ground.

In a tribute to their drunken state, the rest of Rechar's group walked on without him, missing the man's struggles completely. The soft _thud!_ of his connection with the street finally drew their attention and Kyren was met with several shouts of rage and colorful threats.

She took a step backward only to ease into a grappling stance as she sized up the situation. Three opponents. Drunken as they were, these were large men and Ser Rodrik had been very clear: multiple opponents were never to be dismissed lightly. Her best course of action would be to escape as quickly as possible. Judging from the body language of these men, however, escape may not be an option.

They began to fan out, but Kyren could not allow it. She threw another dagger at the leftmost man, capitalizing on her right-handedness, and it struck him deeply through an eye. He screamed before falling horribly silent. Kyren, however, had paid no further attention than to see that she had landed a hit before she had moved to the man reaching for her right arm.

Dodging the outstretched hand, she gripped his wrist firmly, pulling his arm taut before striking to break his elbow. He screamed, but recovered faster than she anticipated, turning to land a blow across her face. She staggered briefly, but pulled another dagger from her corset and jumped at him, slicing a deep cut across his jugular before he could hit her once more.

With two opponents removed from the field, Kyren and the last man circled each other warily.

"This can end now," she called. "Walk away and allow me to do the same and there will be no more bloodshed this night."

The man straightened briefly before bellowing out a hearty laugh. "Fuck me, you're a woman!"

Kyren said nothing, though her first thought was to berate him for such an inconsequential response to her offer.

"Rechar was a bloody moron and Gannon was a prick, but Kennat and I have been friends for years. I'd never let someone kill him and walk away." Regretful as she was at the understanding that she would have to kill this man as well, Kyren sympathized with him. Her code of ethics would demand a similar response if she were in his place. Any kinship she felt with him dissolved, however, when he added, "Bet you're a pretty one under all that, too. Think I'll fuck you bloody, then kill you real slow."

Kyren crouched slightly further, allowing her to spring away as the man leapt at her in an attempt at a flying tackle. He succeeded only in grasping at one of her ankles. With one pull, he disturbed her balance and she stumbled, landing the heel of one boot squarely on his face. With a disgusting snap, his nose broke and he began to howl. When Kyren pulled away, she could see his gaping mouth - now missing a rather large number of teeth - through rivulets of blood that were beginning to snake over his face.

As she pondered the best way to handle the situation, he flipped over and landed a solid blow directly to the large muscle of her thigh, then wrapped a hand around her knee to pull her to the ground. Before Kyren could regain her bearings, he was above her, fingers clawing at her throat as his blood dripped thickly onto her face and hair.

With a start, Kyren realized that he did not intend to choke her to death; no, the man was searching for a solid grip on her windpipe so that he could rip it out altogether. Only the slippery nature of his own blood and drool was preventing him from gaining that hold. Seized by a sudden flurry of desperation, Kyren clawed her nails down his face, narrowly avoiding gouging one of his eyeballs. When she reached it, Kyren ground the heel of her palm into his broken nose and he pulled back with a scream.

She stumbled to her feet, but he caught hold of an edge of her cloak, dragging her to the ground once more. She kicked frantically at him, losing all memory of her training in the surge of panic, but connected only briefly with his ribs. Puffing out a breath, he gathered himself and eased up on hands and knees to crawl to her.

A slight rumble to the ground and an approaching shadow were the only warning Kyren received, but she heeded it immediately, curling into a ball to protect herself as Sotam began trampling the man into the surface of the street. When the stallion at last settled enough to nuzzle at Kyren's face, the man was lying on the ground, wheezing shallowly through a face covered in cuts as he flailed about with his arms.

"My- My legs. They won't move. I can't feel them! I can't-!"

Kyren limped over to him, slitting his throat with a single motion. It took only a few moments to gather her daggers from the bodies of the drunken men, but they were the longest of her life. Confident as she had been in her decision to kill the first man, the other three were an unfortunate side effect that she had never considered. Seeing their bodies - twisted in their various, pained positions - made her stomach turn.

They were the first men she had ever killed and their faces appeared time and again as Kyren and Sotam left King's Landing. They made three stops: one for Kyren to wash the blood, dirt, and drool from her person before applying some Dragon's Tears, and the other two for her to vomit. She had taken lives now, and she felt forever changed by the experience.

* * *

Author's Note \- So, got a little darker in this one than I had originally meant to. However, I feel it's a lot more accurate for people - even highly-trained people - to be affected by the first time they kill someone, and it did seem like Kyren kind of picked that fight...

Shout-out to LunaEvanna Longbottom for my first review in four chapters! You are very appreciated!

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and I would love to hear what you thought. Shoot me a message if you're uncomfortable leaving a review. I would love to hear from you, dear readers! It makes all of this work worth it. Have a wonderful day!


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**The Worth Of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R. R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One

The sight of the Crossroads Inn was both a relief and a burden for Kyren. Like many travelers, the prospect of a good meal, a warm fire, and a soft bed was a welcome one, yet Kyren dreaded the news she might find upon entering the inn. Additionally, the building served as a concrete reminder of her failure - thus far, at least - to locate Arya.

Tracking the girl without drawing attention had proven a chore nearly too great to be performed. Queen Cersei, desperate for leverage to regain possession of her brother, had sent men searching for Arya Stark since her disappearance the day of her father's imprisonment. Dodging the guards, the groups of travelers who could very well be loyal to the Lannisters, and those who may recognize Kyren herself as being affiliated with the Stark family was exhausting, and she found herself arriving at the inn a day later than she had intended. Thus, there was little doubt that a message of some kind awaited her.

After some time spent currying Sotam and settling him in the stables with the help of several overly-helpful stable boys, Kyren could delay no longer and entered the main room of the inn. The man she vaguely recognized as the owner caught sight of her and straightened.

"Are you Kyren Asheworth, little lady?"

"I am indeed. Am I to assume that I have received a message?"

"You most certainly have, as have I. The King's Hand himself told me that I am to put you up for the night and he sent additional coin to pay for a warm meal at the time of your choosing." He leaned closer and winked. "Quite a nice thing, to have friends in high places, eh?"

Kyren gave a small smile, one which almost certainly came off as pained, before giving a stiff nod. "As you say. If you would be so kind as to give me his message and point me in the direction of my room?"

With as few pleasantries as she could manage after such a stretch on the road, Kyren was safely tucked away in her room. She settled gingerly on the bed's straw mattress before unrolling the thin scroll Tyrion had sent. The missive was short and vague, as was necessary with such an easily-intercepted form of communication, but Kyren had no difficulty in deciphering his meaning:

 _Rumors true. B & R dead, along with most trusted servants. Do not return._

Kyren's stomach dropped sharply as she struggled to keep her composure. Bran and Rickon were dead, and Theon had killed most of the servants loyal to the Starks. This almost certainly included Maester Luwin, her only other reason to travel so far North. Before she could dissolve completely into despair, she caught sight of a miniscule addendum at the bottom of the scroll:

 _Battle with Stannis imminent. Stay at inn, wait for word._

That settled it. Kyren attempted to keep herself calm and occupied during the night, darning holes that had worn through her clothing and sharpening her daggers and sword. She even ate a small meal and kept it down without struggle, so long as she avoided thinking of the bodies of Bran and Rickon, or the fear Sansa would be experiencing as King's Landing stood through Stannis's attack - each one becoming a spectre she saw each time she closed her eyes.

It was quite a restless night, indeed.

* * *

Head dangling from his neck in the defeated posture he took pains to avoid in the waking world, Jaime trudged slowly through the darkness.

With the uncaring attitude of one who has suffered a cataclysmic upheaval, he made no moves to avoid the phoenix or the red-weeping eyes of its perch. Any such attempts in the past had failed, but Jaime had persisted with an undaunted laugh and a spiteful grin.

Not so, now.

This time more than any other, he seemed to reach the bird within only a handful of steps. In a graceless slide, he collapsed to the ground and glanced up at the phoenix, missing the pull of scabs and the dull ache of bruising on his face and shoulders. When Robb Stark's men had recovered him after his escape attempt, they had beaten him soundly. Jaime could not cast blame too readily, however. He _had_ killed a Karstark, one of their own.

 _And a Lannister_ , a piercing voice in his head reminded. _You killed one of_ your _own, as well._

Ah, and that was the tender point from which Jaime's self-hatred welled. He had known the captive Lannister - not well, perhaps, but they had spoken, connected, and they had much in common.

 _Perhaps I'll be dead by dawn, lynched or beheaded by the Stark army. Then I shall have even more in common with him._

A croak interrupted his morbid thoughts and Jaime glanced upward with a frown. That had sounded more like the call of a raven than the energetic chirping of the phoenix, perhaps even raspier than a raven's throaty utterance. When he finally found the bird with his eyes, Jaime started back with a frown. The phoenix looked ancient, wings drooping at an angle that served only to emphasize the limp wilt of its neck. Even its body looked unhealthy, bloated painfully until it seemed ready to burst.

Even as he drew himself to his feet in abrupt concern, Jaime saw the bird's constant bluish glow take on a yellow hue and was unsurprised to see the phoenix catch fire once more. There was little he could do while the bird burned, but Jaime remained nearby this time, feeling an odd sense of commiseration with the creature. Eventually, the bird's burning carcass collapsed, revealing an ash-coated phoenix chick, joyful as it had been the first time Jaime watched it burn.

With this diversion removed, Jaime's mood turned dark once more. _Of course. Only one of the two of us receives a chance at a new life and it is the damned bird._ Beyond ready to return to the waking world, even with the mess he had created by killing those men, Jaime walked pointedly away from the phoenix.

* * *

Kyren awoke to a dull thudding on the door of her room, not unlike the one in her head. When she had finally slept, the sun had begun to threaten the horizon, and her dreams had been plagued with scenarios of people she loved being tormented and killed, all while Kyren watched, unable to prevent a thing.

When she moved across the room, her balance was tested by unsteady legs and she leaned against a section of wall as she opened the door.

Outside, the innkeeper stood smiling, but as he saw Kyren's disheveled state, he began to shift his weight like a nervous horse. "Sorry to disturb, but you've received another missive. Seemed urgent." He studied her with shrewd eyes until his expression melted into something akin to sympathy. "The gold sent by the Hand will cover another night here if you would like."

With the thin scroll between her fingers - the tips of which had grown numb - Kyren found it nearly impossible to focus on the man's inanity. Instead, she blinked up at him and gave a tense sort of nod. "I will let you know when I have made a decision. Thank you."

When she was left to privacy once more, Kyren unrolled the missive and blinked. Though this slice of vellum was roughly the same size as the first, it featured such a large amount of writing that it would have been rendered illegible if not for the extreme neatness of the letters.

 _SB attacked late last night. All is well now. S is unharmed and T is injured but recovering. S says that J reconsidering his intentions toward her. She also says not to travel north, that it is too dangerous. KL is dangerous as well. Lie low and keep quiet. W is not safe now._

 _S.P.P._

'S.P.P.' would be 'Squire Podrick Payne', if Kyren's guess was correct. He had been a touch more vague on the details of the attack on King's Landing than she would have preferred, but it was understandable given the mode of communication. It seemed as though the army of Stannis Baratheon had been turned away. With that outcome resolved, Kyren found herself at a bit of a loss. According to Sansa, Kyren should not travel north, Pod warned her not to travel south, and she could not stay at the Crossroads for terribly much longer without attracting unwelcome attention.

With the innkeeper's offer in mind, Kyren came to a decision: she would remain at the inn for one more night in an attempt to reclaim the rest she had lost the previous night, then leave the following morning to begin the search for Arya in earnest. Even as her eyes ached to fall closed, Kyren pulled a piece of parchment from the saddlebags she had earlier carried to her room and began penning a missive to Robb and Lady Catelyn with the news of the past days. Despite her own misgivings, she skipped over the news of Bran and Rickon's likely fates. It was only a rumor, and the Starks had likely heard about Theon's attack of Winterfell and drawn their own conclusions without aid of Tyrion Lannister.

* * *

Kyren cursed, uttering words that would have been sure to burn the ears of a companion should she have had one. Sotam pricked one ear in her direction, but did not bother to glance up from the patch of grass he was meticulously cropping. Left with a hollow feeling of dissatisfaction in her stomach, Kyren once more unrolled the missive she had received from Lady Stark a mere day after sending her own raven - the Stark armies apparently having traveling further into the Westerlands than current rumor had placed them.

 _Listen to S's advice. KL is far too dangerous a place at the moment. I have other forces in place to rescue both of my daughters. Rather than return to KL or North, perhaps you could search for A in the event that she is not in KL herself. Start from the Inn and work southward. Take care and go well._

 _L.C.S._

The short message brought fire to Kyren's soul just as it had the first time she had read it and every time since. It seemed that none in the Stark family thought her services effective in any manner. She had truly been nothing more than a raven for them, spending precious weeks of her life carrying missives across Westeros. It was clear that Lady Stark had never truly expected Kyren to bring her daughters home.

Worst of all, Kyren could hear the rich voice of Jaime Lannister, mocking her without end: _I suppose that duties as a large raven must've taken precedence over the protection of the Stark girls._

It was as if he had known that was to be her entire contribution to the war effort and to the Stark family as a whole. The waste of her talents, all the abilities she had struggled so long to cultivate in order to facilitate the sort of life to which she aspired.

Kyren gritted her teeth until her jaw began to ache. She would continue the search for Arya until Lady Catelyn's 'other forces' returned both girls, then she would do as she had meant to do from the day she left Winterfell and strike out on her own.

With a speed belying her hesitancy about the action, Kyren crumpled the parchment into a loose ball and tossed it into the fire.

She stared into the cheerful fire for longer than was wise. The land had changed as she moved south these past days, the comforting barrier of thick forest and steep hill fading into a wide windswept plain that offered little protection against those who might wish her harm. However, with her reluctance to sleep in the open and little else to occupy her time, Kyren allowed herself to sink into a light flood of melancholy, watching the flames and contemplating her future.

Soon enough, however, she was ripped from her reverie by the soft noise of steadily-approaching footsteps. Kyren had moved to her feet long before the stranger finally appeared, her sword held firmly in her right hand as her left hovered near her corset.

When the tall grasses at last parted to reveal a man, Kyren had worked out what she was to say. "Halt and state your business, stranger."

His full lips curved into a smile as he lifted both hands away from his own weapons. "A man does not mean to give offense."

The thick accent made Kyren curious, but safety was more important. "And what exactly does a man mean to give?"

"A man sees the fire and the horse. He wonders if he could ask to share a girl's shelter for the night. Safety is a fleeting thing in the open fields."

She eyed him with clear mistrust. "A large man dressed in Lannister armor is afraid for his safety?"

"A man travels alone. One never knows what things lurk in the dark," he said cryptically, brushing a strikingly white forelock behind one ear.

Kyren frowned up at him. Every instinct she possessed was screaming that this man was far more dangerous than he seemed, but his presence would keep her from being accosted by any Lannister forces and hers would prevent him from being attacked by any loyal to the North. He had no reason to suspect she was disloyal to the crown and she was safe. Besides that, he had already seen her camp and could easily circle back after she had fallen asleep. It would be far wiser to keep him nearby so that she could be certain he did not plan to ambush her.

"What is your name?"

"A man has the pleasure to be Jaqen H'ghar," he offered with a slight bow. "And a girl is called-?"

"Alis Waters," Kyren responded after a pause she hoped seemed reluctant rather than thoughtful. Waters was a common enough bastard's name, especially considering their current proximity to King's Landing. "Stay on the far side of the fire, Jaqen H'ghar, and you may sleep here tonight."

"A man is most grateful," he said, dropping a small pack on the hard-packed ground. "He will gladly give up his weapons if it would make a girl more comfortable?"

She furrowed her brow once more. "Why would you trust a perfect stranger? I could kill you and take your belongings."

With an inscrutable smile, the mysterious Jaqen shook his head. "A man reads faces as some men read the heavens. A girl has a trustworthy soul."

After eyeing him for a long moment, Kyren told him, "Keep your weapons. You may be required to defend the camp."

"Very well," he agreed, settling onto the ground. Kyren followed suit shortly afterward. He watched her through the flames of the campfire, the flickering light giving his features an unnecessary touch of something alien. "A man will take the first watch."

"No, I will," Kyren countered. She did not trust him enough to be less than aware in his presence and was far too energized besides.

"But a girl will sleep, yes?" he asked, seeming concerned.

"Why do you take such an interest in when my guard will be down?" Kyren asked sharply.

"A man wishes only to be sure that the arrangement will benefit a girl as well as himself," Jaqen explained simply. "A man will wake in a few hours."

With that, he pulled his pack under his head and settled immediately into sleep. Kyren frowned for a few moments at the idea of sleeping in full armor, but it was not her bones that would suffer the next day.

The hours passed quickly, Kyren's only company being in the shape of the slowly-dying fire, a drowsing Sotam, and the even breaths of Jaqen H'ghar. Thoughts flurried around her head like the sparks snapping from the fire and she allowed them to rule her mind even as her senses remained on guard for other intruders.

She still mourned Lord Eddard Stark. He had been something of a father figure for the time she had lived at Winterfell, though she still treasured the few surviving memories of her own father. Bran and Rickon were likely gone as well, and though she had not known them as she did their older siblings, they had been a comforting constant and she bitterly regretted that the potential of their lives had been snuffed out so abruptly, so violently… so needlessly.

Unbidden, an image of Jaime Lannister rose to the forefront of her mind. Kyren brushed it away several times, but it seemed that remembering his words earlier had reminded herself of his existence and she now found it difficult to leave that awareness behind.

With the clarity of hindsight, Kyren could admit that she had likely been in love with Jaime Lannister - or her idealized image of him, in any case. The golden lion, a member of the Kingsguard, her teacher, a trusted mentor… He had played so many roles in her life, but none so encompassing as the role of a good man that he had assumed in order to win her trust.

The memory of their last encounter haunted her, the look of desperate isolation on his face only slightly less piercing in her mind than it had been in person. Had she been wrong to deny him a last kiss? Jaime was a traitor, an incestuous man who had attempted to kill a small child to protect his own reputation, but surely there could be a grain of truth to the mask he wore around Kyren? Surely he was not so talented an actor that he could have lied during their friendly banter, much less during the moments between them that grew heated?

No, despite his assertions to the contrary, Kyren did not regret denying him a final embrace, but she feared she was growing to regret that she had denied it for herself. That regret would be easier to push aside if she could not remember with aching clarity the feel of his lips on her own, the glitter in his emerald gaze when she said something clever, the weight of him between her thighs…

Across the dimming fire, Jaquen H'ghar rose to a sitting position and Kyren prided herself on managing not to startle. He glanced at her and she nodded, settling into sleep without further thought or fear.

When her eyes opened once more, the sky was beginning to lighten. After a moment to marvel that she had not been gutted as she slept, Kyren stood and took stock of her surroundings. It was just before daybreak and the plains had lightened enough to be seen without detail. They did seem a sort of lake, ripples of wind bending the tall stalks of grass in distinct patterns. As she moved around the still-smoldering fire, Kyren gave Sotam a gentle pat and he nuzzled at her hand.

Even as she noticed that Jaqen seemed nowhere to be found, she heard his footsteps approaching and he moved through the quiet grasses a moment later. He smiled in greeting, offering his cupped hands toward her. "Would a girl join a man in breaking his fast?"

Kyren glanced from Jaqen's face to the recently-scrubbed roots in his hands before walking to Sotam's saddlebags. "Thank you, but I have my own provisions. I will leave those for you."

He did not acknowledge her words, but sat somewhat closer than she had asked him to stay during the previous night, perhaps a quarter of the space around the fire between them instead of the entire thing. He said nothing still, seemingly preoccupied with eating his roots. Kyren opted for a small piece of hardened biscuit instead.

"You are from Braavos, are you not?" she asked eventually.

He paused in eating to watch her. "A man is. Why does a girl wish to know?"

"Curious. I've known a few Braavosi," she offered, thinking of Syrio Forel.

"Where does a girl plan to travel from here?" Jaqen asked.

Kyren shrugged. "I cannot claim to have thought overly much about it. Likely I shall continue south. And yourself?"

"A man travels back to Braavos."

"Do you intend to desert the Lannister army?"

Jaqen dusted his hands and crossed his legs to peer at her sharply. "A man is not part of the Lannister army."

"Then why does a man wear Lannister armor?"

"Perhaps he has stolen it."

"Have you?"

He fell silent for such a time that she assumed he did not plan to answer. When he at last spoke, it was more than she had heard him say the entirety of their association. "A man was traveling and found a Lannister guard harassing a young girl, one disguised as a boy. He killed the guard, released the secret girl, and took the armor."

"Clever, though I am uncertain why you chose to reveal such a thing to a stranger. How are you so certain that I am not loyal to the Lannisters or King Joffrey who sits on the Iron Throne?"

"A man knows such things," he said by way of explanation. "A girl is from the North, same as the secret girl. She traveled south as well, said there were too many dangers to fight her way north."

Kyren fought to keep her thoughts from her face, but her mind was whirring. A girl disguised as a boy who was from the North and wished to return there, but could not due to a variety of dangers? This could be the clue to Arya's whereabouts that she had been searching for!

Voice laced with carefully-cultivated confusion, Kyren asked, "Why would she travel south to return to the North? That makes little sense."

"A man believes she intended to board a ship to Braavos, then find a way back across to the North of Westeros."

As far as plans went, it was far from the worst Kyren had heard. If she remembered Maester Luwin's geography lessons, Braavos was roughly a middling distance between King's Landing and Winterfell. She could cross the Narrow Sea directly, land in a quiet town, and travel north with none the wiser. It would be a long voyage to Braavos by ship, but who would think to search for Arya Stark in Essos?

"I find myself in need of work. Is there employment to be found in Braavos?"

His light eyes glinted amusedly at her, but he only pursed his full lips in thought. "Employment may be found for a girl, especially with a man to vouch for her nature."

As unintelligent as it was to agree to travel such a distance with a man she did not know, Kyren could not fight that it would be helpful to have a local nearby. The voyage would give her the time needed to discover if he was trustworthy enough to enlist his help in finding Arya.

"A man knows that a girl can protect herself, but having a male in the party, no one will attempt to attack."

"Very well," Kyren agreed at length. "We will travel together. Where is the best place to board a ship for Braavos?"

"The closest ports are in King's Landing."

She nodded, having feared such an answer. "To King's Landing, then."

* * *

Author's Note \- Before anyone sends unpleasant messages, I know that Jaqen's story is off. You know that Jaqen's story is off. Jaqen knows that Jaqen's story is off. The only one who doesn't know is Kyren, and that is the point here. He's a mysterious guy with his own agenda. Also, apologies: this chapter contains more page breaks and time shifts than I generally prefer for a single chapter, but I needed to move the plot along so I could get to the exciting stuff. And on the more positive side, I do have a chapter written and ready to post and another one that only needs another page or two of writing before it's complete, so we should get a few weeks of updates coming up!

Shoutout to purple-pygmy-puff16, Desert, and klo for their reviews!

I usually prefer to respond to reviews in PM, but Desert, it won't let me PM the answer to your question! Sotam's hooves were wrapped to muffle the sound of his horseshoes on the cobblestone streets. I am not sure if there's any documentation in the GoT universe about horses being shod, but I'm assuming this is a semi-medieval time period and horseshoes have been present on horses in our world since roughly 100 B.C., so I'm feeling fairly confident that they would have shoes. Thanks for the question!

As always, thank you for reading and please leave a review. I hope you have a wonderful day and I'll see you next week!


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

**The Worth Of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, plots, settings, characters, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kyren had never been quite so grateful to see land as she was when the _Yangilash_ made port in Braavos. Luckily, sailing did not make her queasy in the slightest, but her legs fairly ached to walk without being barricaded by the limits of a ship - even such a fairly large one as they had sailed on. That was not to say that she had suffered from lack of regular exercise; she and Jaqen had worked as part of the crew in exchange for their transport. The permanent members of the crew who had been inclined to give her easier jobs due to her sex learned better by the third day of their voyage. Kyren worked as hard as any of the men - indeed, more tirelessly than most.

At the captain's suggestion, Kyren had retreated to the large room of swinging hammocks that made up the crew's sleeping quarters to retrieve her few belongings. Beyond a few small packs and Sotam's saddlebags, she owned only the clothes she wore.

"Ah, if it is not little _ilzigon riña_!" a voice boomed from behind her.

Kyren turned to shoot a grin over her shoulder at the large, mustachioed man. "Vogys. I am certain you are pleased that this voyage has ended."

Vogys scoffed, patting his rounded stomach with a good-natured grimace. "I would be broke if we sailed another week!"

Kyren's grin stretched even wider at that. The Braavosi man had helped her more than earn back the precious coins she had paid to secure a place on the ship for Sotam. She had learned very quickly that sailors seemed to have a weakness for betting, particularly when one's aim was called into question. She had made a fair amount of gold from taking bets on what she could hit with a dagger. The weapon in question was not even one of her specially-forged knives. Instead, she used a small, heavily-battered blade she had bought just before they set sail. These men were kinder than she had expected, but she was not so trusting as to place an obviously-expensive set of weapons within easy reach.

The lives she had already taken haunted her every day. She did not wish to add to the number for a reason so easily avoided.

She held out a hand to the gentle giant. "It has been a pleasure working with you, Vogys. When you tell your wife of your losses, do not mention my name."

"I can promise no such thing, young Alis," Vogys denied, ignoring her hand in favor of wrapping her in a bone-crushing embrace. "To that end, I have some advice for you."

Kyren smiled. Vogys was well-known for handing out advice, most of it such gems as, 'If you must vomit, make certain an enemy stands below you' and 'Drinking strong mead keeps your mustache in place'. With her experience of his wisdom, Kyren waited with amusement already bubbling through her midsection.

"Be mindful of yourself out there, _riña._ Braavos is a good city, rich in people and cultures and life, but there is also death. He waits in corners, follows the unwary, and if you let your guard down for even a moment, he will snatch you up and take you away."

With the pleasant tickle of humor now thoroughly dissipated, Kyren frowned up at Vogys. "Death is everywhere. Why should he be more dangerous in Braavos than elsewhere?"

"Death is the world's most constant companion, but in Braavos, he takes the shape of many. You never see them or know they are there, but you must always be watchful. The man you travel with…" Vogys glanced back at the staircase behind him, seeming to check for another's presence before he finished. Leaning in still more closely, he muttered, "Death clings to him. I can smell it like a strong perfume. He is a dangerous man. You would do well to find a way to go far from him."

"Thank you for the warning, Vogys," Kyren said gravely. Any fool could see that Jaqen H'ghar was more than he claimed to be, a man far more lethal than any had a right to be, but Vogys's concern was touching. "I shall try to do as you suggest."

"Cap'n Syrar says he would take you back on if you ever need to go somewhere the _Yangilash_ is set to sail." Vogys finally gave that familiar smile that had made the voyage so pleasant. "Of course, you will have to pay coin for that demon horse, but I've given you more than enough of that. Just hold back a dragon or two."

"Thank you again, Vogys," Kyren said with sincerity. Against her better judgment, she embraced him once more, regretting the action immediately when she heard Jaqen's familiar tread moving down the stairs.

"Is a girl ready to depart? A man must be on his way."

Kyren nodded before picking up her packs and glancing to Vogys, who gave a single nod. "Remember what I said, Alis."

Rather than answer, Kyren merely gave an understanding smile and followed Jaqen up the narrow planks of the staircase.

When they had reached the bustling streets of Braavos - after the trial of having Sotam unloaded from the _Yangilash_ \- Jaqen finally spoke. "What sort of employment does a girl desire?"

Kyren shrugged. "I am uncertain. Perhaps I will spend a few days searching for the right fit."

"A man will help if a girl allows it."

Growing somewhat desperate to place the focus on things other than her reasons for traveling to Braavos, Kyren asked sharply, "I have a name; why do you refuse to call me by it?"

He watched her steadily from behind his white-streaked red hair. "When a girl tells a man her true name, he will use it."

Now battling a flush at the valid accusation, her voice grew more accusatory. "I can easily tell you what I am _not_ called: girl. I have not been a girl for a long time."

"A girl remains a girl until she can bear life."

Without a moment's hesitation, Kyren turned and lashed out at him with a tightly-curled fist. Jaqen blocked the blow as she had expected he would - whoever he truly was, his reflexes had proven to be excellent over the course of their voyage. She withdrew her fist the moment she connected with his forearm and turned back to the street with as bland a voice and expression as she could muster. "How did you know?"

"A man spent much time in close quarters with a girl. Never once did she bleed." From the corner of her eye, Kyren saw him glance in her direction several times. "A man does not mean to give offense."

Abruptly weary beyond reason, Kyren sighed. "It is rather difficult to remain unoffended when a stranger brings up your greatest failing."

"Barrenness is not a girl's greatest failing," he replied at length.

"It is the single responsibility in every woman's life to bear and raise children and I cannot do that. How is that not a failing?" Kyren asked with a frown.

"A girl was given the life she was given. Her failings are not in what she is, but what she does."

Kyren glared. "Pleased as I am that an all-knowing stranger presumes to know my actions well enough to judge me by them, I would rather discontinue this conversation."

Jaqen bowed his head in acquiescence and they walked through the crowded streets in silence for quite some time. Absorbed as she was in looking at the multitude of goods sold in the booths and stands that they passed, Kyren remained ever-aware of the dangling thread of conversation between the two and the air seemed to grow thicker until she could hardly bear to breathe.

At long last, she growled, "What is my greatest failing?"

"A girl is blessed with many talents," he replied immediately, for all the world as though the extended silence had never occurred. "Yet she wastes many of them in service to a family which exists no longer."

"And what family would that be?" Kyren asked through lungs that burned with lack of air.

"The Starks."

And there it was, the knowledge Kyren had always feared the mysterious man would somehow possess. "Why would you believe such a thing?"

One corner of his mouth quirked though he did not look in her direction. "A girl was most set on remaining in Westeros until a man mentioned that Arya Stark could be here as well."

"If I were truly loyal to the North and searching for Arya Stark, the knowledge that you have discovered my purpose would make my first priority to remove the threat you represent. Why would you reveal yourself so freely?"

He smirked full-out now. "A man does not fear your threats, but he will tell you that he holds no loyalty to any in Westeros, nor any in Braavos. A man serves only one, the Many-Faced God."

"I cannot claim to have heard of him."

"All have heard of the Many-Faced God. He is the Stranger, he is worshipped by a thousand tribes who will never met, his is the face carved into the Weirwood trees of the North. He is all, and he is none. His followers are the same."

A chill ran up Kyren's spine. Perhaps this is what Vogys had been speaking of when he gave such a mysterious warning? "And what does the Many-Faced God ask of his followers?"

"What does any god ask of his followers? Obedience. The Many-Faced God told a man that a girl was to accompany him to Braavos."

Kyren halted in the street and looked up at Jaqen with one hand inching toward her daggers under guise of securing Sotam's lead. Jaqen had appeared from nowhere and she knew little of him, but he was quick-witted and observant as well as lithe and highly-trained.

"Is Arya in Braavos?"

"A man knows not. She very well could be, or she could be far from here. He does not know the actions of others, only his own."

Frustrated by the idea that she had been brought on such a journey for nothing, Kyren asked, "Why did your god ask you to bring me here, then?"

Jaqen shrugged carelessly. "A man is not certain. The Many-Faced God did not choose to reveal such a thing, but a man has done what was asked of him."

It seemed she was gaining little by asking such veiled questions, so Kyren opted for bluntness. "Am I free to leave?"

He paused and looked her over from head to foot. "The Many-Faced God does not wish for a girl to join the Faceless Men. She could not obey as he desires, she is far too honest. A girl may do as she pleases, and if the Many-Faced God chooses otherwise, a man will be sent to stop her."

"You?"

Another shrug came. "This man, another, it does not matter. The followers of the Many-Faced God are all and they are none, just as he is."

"Perhaps we will see each other again," Kyren said awkwardly, making to lead Sotam down a side street.

Jaqen laughed heartily. "Even if a girl is not stopped by him, a man will see her again. The Many-Faced God has willed it."

In a move far too smooth for Kyren's comfort, Jaqen disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

When he opened his eyes to the blackness that had become his second home, Jaime groaned. It had been an exhausting day traveling with the mulish Brienne, and he had been so looking forward to a handful of hours in which he could sleep uninterrupted. Apparently, it was not to be.

To his savage joy, the bird looked as poorly as he likely did. Bedraggled and somehow less colorful than he was accustomed to seeing, the phoenix peered blearily down at him when he stood at the base of the Weirwood, opening the wicked curve of its beak only to release a rasping croak before settling back into its nest and out of view.

Sour that the creature was resting when it would not allow him to do the same, Jaime scowled up at it. "It is high time this madness was put to a stop. I am weary of visiting you for nights on end when you do little more than lay there and stare at me. The most interesting thing you do is die, yet even that does not aid me in any way! If any god listens to me now, I do not understand any of this. I see nothing, I know nothing, I learn nothing. I would rather sleep if the opinion of one man bears any weight on your marvelous plans..."

With a cry that sounded disturbingly human, the phoenix seemed to heed his words and burst into flames. Jaime did not even bother to watch the phenomenon, opting instead to lie flat on his back on the ground with his hands cupping the back of his head. Even with such a mean substitute for a pillow, his eyes begged to close and Jaime drifted several times before the phoenix's flames began to die.

Hoping he could continue to catch a few scattered moments of half-sleep, Jaime kept his eyes closed for a time and thus did not realize at any particular moment what was wrong. Instead, he faded slowly into full consciousness with a pervading sense that something was missing from the sensory-thin world in which he was caught.

The phoenix was - for the first time in his memory - utterly silent.

Jaime strode quickly to the base of the Weirwood tree, staring up at the nest as he breathed a soft prayer that the hated head of the phoenix would dart over the edge and shoot him the satisfied look he had so despised until it disappeared. At the beginning of this very dream, he had longed for the creature to be silent, but now that it was reality, he was struck with a horrible sense of foreboding.

Scarcely believing the desperation of his own actions, Jaime grasped the pale bark of the tree, scrabbling for handholds, and began to climb. It was a rough ascent, his fingernails tearing as they dug into the bark with their effort to hold his weight. His blood mingled with the eerily red sap of the tree as it flowed freely down the trunk.

At long last, he reached a vantage point from which he could see into the phoenix's nest. As always happened after a burn, a small pile of ash remained. Normally, the small grey heap was disturbed by the equally small, equally grey phoenix chick, but non appeared to be there now. Jaime used one of his blood- and sap-crusted fingertips to scatter the lightweight grains across the bottom of the nest, but to no avail. The phoenix had disappeared.

Jaime dropped directly to the ground from his perch, justifying too late that it was a dream and he was unlikely to be injured by the fall. In truth, he had been far too stunned by the events of the moment to consider any such dangers.

As his first prayer had been granted and the second had been denied, Jaime was not overly hopeful as he breathed out, "Seven help me. What happens here? I do not understand. What does any of this mean?"

The light he had assumed was emanating from the phoenix itself had remained after the death of the bird, a fact registered by Jaime only when the ambient glow began to brighten to levels near unbearable to his illumination-starved eyes. When at last his surroundings had completely blinded Jaime, he dropped to his knees and closed his eyes, covering them with both hands in an attempt to shut out the pain.

A clear voice rang gently, hauntingly, through the area, tickling Jaime's ears even as he fought the impulse to drop his hands and look for the source. The pitch was odd, and he could not determine if it was male or female or a mixture of each. Perhaps it was neither. The only method of ascertaining for certain was to open his eyes, and that would surely mean blindness.

 _One, two, three-four-five_

 _Thrice you've watched a phoenix die_

 _Six, seven, eight-nine-ten_

 _Two times it came back again_

 _Eleven, twelve, dozen-and-one_

 _Your house will burn for what you've done_

 _Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen-and-a-score_

 _You will be ash and nothing more_

The light levels dropped abruptly, past where they had been before and into utter darkness. Sensing the dream was coming to a rapid end, Jaime cried out wildly. "Wait! I still do not understand! Why do I burn? How can I stop such a thing?"

"Wake _up_ , Kingslayer," Brienne ordered, tossing a heavy pack at him. As it landed heavily on his stomach, Jaime shot upright, panting slightly.

He stared at his bound hands - caked in filth - as his mind tumbled through the dream. Typically, Jaime struggled to remember his dreams, even those involving the phoenix, but this last ran through his mind with stunning clarity. He could still hear the melodious warning in particular.

Brienne eyed him with wary curiosity. "Pleasant dreams?"

"No, but I fear they were important." Dimly, he registered the roll of her expressive eyes and realized that this was the first attempt she had ever made toward making small talk. Rightly, he should have thrown out a less-than-tasteful jest that he had dreamed about Brienne herself. She would have become frustrated and believed him the easily-dismissed, easily-underestimated fool he had worked so tirelessly to present to her. It was crucial that she should continue to think of him as helpless.

Jaime had been vaguely on the lookout for escape opportunities since Catelyn Stark had first sent him along with Brienne of Tarth, though admittedly, his desire to escape had dropped significantly after he had watched Brienne cut down and bury the bodies of three prostitutes who had been hanged for servicing Lannister troops.

The towering woman had mowed down three Stark soldiers who opposed her, protecting Jaime's identity and their mission in one fell swing of her rather gigantic sword. Jaime had realized that attempting to slip away from his escort could very well end in his own death. He was a valuable hostage, one of the best options for the peaceful return of the Stark girls. However, Jaime had received enough lessons in strategy from Tywin to understand that Robb Stark was doing very well in the war. So well, in fact, that a peaceful return of the Stark girls was no longer the only viable option.

If Brienne was forced to choose between allowing Jaime to escape and regain his freedom or killing him outright, he was not certain of what action she would take. He had been unwilling to jeopardize his life in a bid for freedom thus far. After all, he was being escorted back to King's Landing. He would return home, even if that return meant that he would be forced to swallow his pride.

And yet, this odd dream had set his plan for inaction ablaze - pun unintended, of course. The Seven most certainly had plans for him, and if they were plans that would end poorly for him, Jaime was certain he could fight off enemies far easier if he was in possession of his freedom. He would begin searching in earnest for a method of escape. He had to slip away from his guard and time was of the essence. It was time he began plotting the downfall of Brienne of Tarth.

His grudging respect for her loyalty to Catelyn Stark be damned.

* * *

Author's Note \- We are officially in Season 3, just before Jaime attempts to escape from Brienne and they are both captured by the Bolton men. I won't go into much detail about the capture as you can easily find a clip from the show online and I don't write what's already taken place if I can help it. The phoenix song in this chapter is based on a very old nursery rhyme that I didn't know existed until a child started singing next to me in a public restroom and I almost passed out on the spot. I've changed the original words, but the rhyme scheme remains the same. Look up 'One, Two, Three, Four, Five/Once I Caught A Fish Alive' if you're curious about the source.

Thanks for reading, leave a review, and have a great day!


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**The Worth Of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nearly a full week had passed since Kyren had landed on the _Yangilash_. She had fallen deeply in love with Braavos already - with such a rich tapestry formed by the interweaving of so many cultures, how could she not? - but its one true failing was an utter lack of Arya Stark. Kyren had traveled the streets every day in search of information, but she consistently found none.

Her efforts, however, were stymied on a daily basis as she could not search too openly for fear of exposing Arya's presence to any who might see fit to report back to the Lannisters.

In a last-ditch attempt to find the young Stark girl, Kyren wandered into a dusty caravan said to be owned by a soothsayer on an island in the outskirts of Braavos known simply as the Edge. The soothsayer in question was said to know things she should never have been able to discern without the help of the supernatural. Normally, Kyren shied away from consulting the spirits, but she was desperate for any assistance and Arya's life could very well hang in the balance.

Having been thoroughly instructed on how these things were typically conducted, Kyren tapped twice at the door and let herself in slowly. The boards of the floor creaked a loud protest as she crossed to a table with only one seat - a hooded chair covered in faded black upholstery, already claimed by a small pile of dark clothing. She remained on the side of the table closest to the door, setting a gold dragon in the space that had been cleared for such a thing, then waited patiently.

Kyren had been warned that the seeress could keep her waiting for quite some time, so she started rather violently when the pile of clothing shifted to reveal that it was in truth an extremely small person with an extremely large amount of dark curly hair. The soothsayer did not appear to be as small as Tyrion Lannister, but the impression of delicacy was aided by her slender form. She was a mere wisp of a person and Kyren vaguely wondered how she managed to remain sitting upright under the weight of her curls.

"You come to me so heavily armed. Am I truly such a danger?"

The hoarsely amused accent did not at all match what Kyren had expected from the woman and her answer required more than a single moment to articulate: "I come armed only with my wits and the single coin I have already given. There exists no threat toward you, not from me."

The 'complete' listing of her weapons was a falsehood, of course. Kyren wore one dagger tucked into the top of one boot while another rested in a daring holster she had purchased in a market on the far side of Braavos, one designed to be worn wrapped around the uppermost part of her thigh. Neither was visible.

The seeress's head tilted back as she seemed to regard Kyren. The newly-revealed lower half of her face split into a broad, lush-lipped smile. The even whiteness of her teeth and the deep tan of her skin prompted Kyren to subtract a few years from her mental estimation - a number which dropped even further when the woman reached across the table with a motion both swift and graceful to grasp the coin.

Kyren watched as the gold disc came to rest in the seeress's lap, turned several times and tapped by a considering fingernail.

"You offer me gold. What service may I offer in return, Westerosi?"

"I am in search of someone, a person from my past, but I cannot reveal the name."

"Most unusual," she commented.

Anger kindled in Kyren's belly and she struggled to keep her voice level. "Yes, it is, which is why I've sought such an unusual source for information."

Silence reigned for such a time that Kyren began to wonder if she had grievously offended the soothsayer, but the strange woman eventually revealed, "I know the one of whom you speak. She has escaped much and will face even greater odds in the future. You will see her again, but she will be greatly changed."

"I care little for the future. I wish only to discover her current whereabouts."

"You are stubborn, Westerosi," the seeress sighed with a shake of her dark-haired head. "I cannot change these events. They have already been put into place by the gods themselves and no other can be allowed to interfere."

"Fuck that," Kyren said crassly. "I will not allow her to undergo unknown trials while I wait for her to reappear with hopes that I am able to recognize her when she does! Where is she?"

"I understand that you cannot leave well enough alone. Perhaps that is why the gods have locked my lips as they have. You cannot know her location because you trust none other than yourself."

Kyren frowned over at the tiny woman. She had not been warned that the soothsayer would attempt to hold her for further coin, but she had heard of such things happening with others who claimed to know that which they could not. "I have given you my only coin."

The seeress laughed, a tinkling mirthful sound that would ordinarily have brought a smile to Kyren's own lips, had she not been so frustrated by the current turn of conversation. "Westerosi, no coin could unlock my lips, nor could the weapons so carefully concealed upon your person. The gods have deemed that you are not to find the one you seek and none shall be able to give you the information you seek."

Hoping her most ferocious glare could penetrate that curtain of curls obscuring the seeress's face, Kyren snarled, "And why should I believe that you know anything of the one I am attempting to find? You could easily be a fraud."

The woman leaned forward from the protection of her hooded chair, lush mouth set in a firm line. "Such accusations are painful, girl. I know for whom you search, know her face as I know my own. Her future is a certainty, one I would keep her from if it were in my power, but you and I lack the ability to do such a thing."

"So you have met her?" Kyren asked skeptically, though she needed only confirmation that Arya was indeed in Braavos before she began her search in earnest.

"No, I have not met her, but I will. In time, I will meet her. I have seen her, many times, and her future is unchanging. The gods have laid out her path and will allow none to alter it."

In her desperation for a plain answer, Kyren did as she had been advised not to and gripped the table, leaning across it and toward the obscured face of the seeress. "Enough riddles! You have seen her? She is here, in Braavos?"

The pile of curls had shifted away from Kyren's forward motion, but returned to its original position as she answered, "You must learn to listen if you hope to become a knight, Westerosi; I have not seen her, I have Seen her."

Before the red-haired girl could recoil into a safer section of the room, the seeress had reached up with a delicate, long-nailed finger and pressed into the center of Kyren's forehead. A searing pain accompanied the otherwise gentle touch and Kyren found herself unable to keep her eyes from closing. Darkness soon pulled her under.

When Kyren woke once more, she was resting on the bed in her rented room at a local inn. She struggled to sit upright, searching her brain for what had happened. She had woken in a normal place, yet she had sworn she had meant to rise early and try a different method of finding Arya. Judging from the light outside, it was late afternoon. Had she lost nearly a full day to sleep?

She stood gingerly and moved to the door. The inn was very small, merely a collection of single rooms all opening to a central room used as a parlor, receiving area, and dining hall all at once. Henosha, the female half of the couple who owned the inn, glanced over sharply as Kyren walked out.

"Alis!" she cried, as Kyren was still traveling under her assumed name. None thought twice of a King's Landing bastard staying in Braavos. "You were brought back some hours ago by a group of Edgemen with that horrid mark on your face. What have you done?"

Henosha's words took time to filter through the haze of Kyren's consciousness, and when they did, her hands flew to her face. Her fingers stroked and prodded until they encountered something strange on her forehead and she drew back with a hiss as a flash of pain ran through her.

"Yes, that mark," Henosha said dryly, though concern for Kyren still seeped into her words. "It appears to be a burn. I warned you the soothsayer was to be treated with the utmost respect. Why did you not listen?"

Between the pain and Henosha's questions, Kyren's memories of the morning were beginning to return. Certain specifics still refused to resurface, but a general sense of unease and dissatisfaction was clear, as was the sense that the seeress was utterly mad and thus unreliable.

"I did," Kyren defended. "...At first, though I did get frustrated further into the conversation. I fear little was gained by the encounter."

Henosha's face fell. "Then I apologize for sending you on such a fruitless venture, especially as you were injured by it."

Kyren shrugged. "In truth, I found it to be something of a necessary call to action. I now realize that the one I seek is not in Braavos. I must move on, return to Westeros, but how? I cannot afford passage back on any safe vessel."

The innkeeper nodded in commiseration. Ships were commonly terrible places for females, especially those traveling without escort. Even with Kyren's oft-proven skills in throwing daggers, she was hyper-aware that she had only remained unaccosted on the _Yangilash_ due to Jaqen's quiet menace and Vogys's cheerfully voiced threats. Even with her abilities to defend her, killing members of a ship's crew could easily lead to being thrown overboard and left to drown. She remembered the offer Vogys had extended just before she and Jaqen departed and gave a sigh.

"If only I knew when the _Yangilash_ was scheduled to return…" Kyren murmured, inadvisedly thinking aloud.

"The _Yangilash_?" Henosha asked, visibly brightening. "It will be running goods between Myr and King's Landing for some months to come."

Kyren stared at her, the beginnings of a smile on her face as Henosha blushed. "You wished to know, did you not? The captain of the _Yangilash_ is a friend, he stays here whenever he is in port and shares his schedule quite freely."

After nodding along as though she believed Henosha's excuses, Kyren leaned on the narrow desk and grinned wickedly. "I am certain that Captain Syrar's good looks have nothing to do with your interests in the _Yangilash_ 's sailing schedule."

"Well, I never! To accuse me of such a thing…" Henosha defended hotly, blushing an even deeper red. When Kyren was quite ready to apologize, the innkeeper gave a guilty smile. "It is only that… In truth, Illiphos and I were wedded so long ago. And Captain Syrar is so _dashing_." She nodded once, firmly. "Keep it to yourself, yes?"

"On my honor," Kyren promised gravely, resting a hand over her heart. "Myr, you said?"

"Yes, Myr. It is south quite a few days journey and the road will not be easy, but it can be done."

"How?"

Henosha walked briskly to a map of Essos displayed prominently on the wall, beckoning for Kyren to follow. "As you can see, south of Braavos lie the Timetbre mountains, but there is a well-established road used by loggers and merchants. It is heavily traveled and thus as safe as one can expect. If you follow the road south, it breaks into many smaller roads when you reach the Rhoyne River, but they are easily traveled as well. You will pass the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe, then cross the Flatlands. Continue to travel south until you reach the Sea of Myrth. Myr is the only major city."

"Sounds simply done," Kyren commented, studying the map with care.

"The roads are simple, yes, but there are many dangers that haunt them. Dothraki _khalasars_ have been known the patrol the interior Flatlands in search of settlements to sack. Pirates often pillage villages near the coast, so they are not safe, either. Thieves watch the roads in search of riches to steal, and they seldom leave witnesses alive. You must be careful, even more so because of your appearance."

"My appearance," Kyren repeated, frowning.

Henosha glanced over with a nod, then turned more fully when she realized that Kyren was on the verge of offense. "No, Alis, you misunderstand me. You are pale-skinned and red-haired, beautiful in your own way and utterly different from most Essosi women. You are exotic, a novelty, and that places you at risk for becoming a target for slavers. They say that there are three slaves for every free man in Myr, and the hunters for Slaver's Bay search as far north as Tyrosh for fresh bodies."

Fighting back a coldness emanating from the pit of her stomach, Kyren gave a faint nod. She had spoken so abstractly of slavery with Jaime Lannister so long ago and still considered it preferable to death, but did not especially wish to put her theory into practice. "I will take care, both in my choice of route and in my conduct on the road. I thank you, Henosha, for your kind concern."

"I shall pray to the Silent God for your safety on this voyage," Henosha vowed fervently, but ruined the effect with a small, girlish giggle. "And when you do reach the _Yangilash_ , please tell Captain Syrar that he has never been far from my thoughts."

* * *

They had been riding for years.

Perhaps, Jaime's literal mind reasoned, it had not truly been such a length of time, but the rest of him swore that lives had started and ended since they last stopped in one place for more than a moment.

Every jarring step taken by the damnably spring-gaited horse aggravated his hand - or rather, the bloody, aching stump from which his hand used to protrude. He was somewhat impressed that the horse managed to bounce so with both Jaime's weight and that of Brienne on his back, but bounce he did. Was it just his own imaginings, or did Brienne's skin hold a rather unnatural coolness? He would hate for her to fall ill. After all, in such close quarters, he was likely to succumb as well.

"Why did you help me?" Brienne hissed. Bound backwards as he was, Jaime could not see her face, but he could hear the ire in her tone well enough. He had a vague idea that he had already answered, but her continued diatribe seemed to hint otherwise. "I am nothing to you, no one other than a captor and hated escort. Why would you attempt to keep me safe? To prevent… that?"

Jaime did not rightly know.

"How could you not know the reasoning behind your own actions?" Brienne asked harshly. Ah, so he did say that one aloud. It was difficult to keep track of such things.

Jaime's mind began to tumble down the path of his own twisted reasoning. Why had he helped her, though? Brienne of Tarth _was_ nothing to him, just as she had claimed. He had certainly resented her at the start of their journey - and indeed, through most of the middle - but at some point, he had begun to admire her. With the odd clarity of one whose mind is no longer under his own command, Jaime realized with a start that she reminded him of another. When those men had dragged her away and she had fought, round face and round eyes set in a desperate semblance of bravery, he had seen another round face, though the eyes were somewhat different.

Would Kyren have liked Brienne? She had left the camp of Robb Stark before she had ever met the towering female, but they were similar in many respects. At the same time, Kyren was sensitive about her weakness and small stature while Brienne was uncomfortable with her own size and strength. Perhaps they would have hated each other. Being around another who is a constant reminder of one's perceived shortcomings was never easy. He should know; his own foils were common enough in the life he had led so long ago.

"Who is Kyren?" Brienne asked gently and Jaime swore - whether aloud or only in his mind, he was uncertain and no longer cared. There was no way to know how many of his thoughts had been spoken aloud, but the idea that Brienne knew Kyren's name, knew her importance to him, was a weakness. With only one hand and a body wracked with the brittleness of long captivity, Jaime could not afford yet another weakness.

"Kingslayer…" Brienne trailed, and though Jaime winced at the hated name, her tone held none of the usual hatred. "You must eat and drink. You must regain your strength."

Jaime scoffed at that. He had been given piss to drink and worse things to serve as food. With deliberate concentration, he managed to say aloud, "We both know that is no longer an option."

Brienne replied, but he could hear no longer as he had passed into unconsciousness against her broad back.

When Jaime's eyes opened once more, he found himself in the familiar, all-encompassing darkness of his phoenix dreams. There appeared to be no Weirwood tree and no nest, but he could not be certain, as there was certainly no phoenix to provide the soft glow to which he had become accustomed.

Weary in this world as he was in the real one, Jaime laid down where he had been standing and stared into the darkness. His mind taunted him with images of creatures stalking him in his blindness, but he could not bring himself to care. If he were lucky, something with large jaws would snatch him up and he would never have to face life without his sword hand - his one contribution to Westeros and the only justification for his knighthood which was not based in the purse of his father.

Thoughts brought back the recent trauma his body had endured, Jaime's intact left hand reached clumsily for the space his right had occupied once upon a time. He encountered no hand and battled back a wave of disappointment. The stump was painless and smooth, no raging fire of infection or rawness of a new injury, but Jaime was deflated. Even in this world inside his mind, he could never again be whole.

Dimly, he registered that his surroundings were growing lighter. They were still as black as if he was standing in an inkwell, but somehow, there was illumination. With wariness borne of his last experience with light in the shadowed world, Jaime brought his left hand up, poised to cover his eyes should the brightness grow unbearable.

However, the light slowly intensified until reasonable before leveling off. Jaime blinked several times, having become thoroughly adjusted to the darkness. It was only then that he noticed the figure.

She stood a short distance away and seemed utterly unmoved when Jaime stumbled to his feet, preparing to defend himself against an attack. Even if she had moved against him, however, Jaime would never have fought back. She was short, fine-boned and pale-skinned. Even as he braced himself for assault, she simply stared up at him with a small smile on her face and kindness in her dark eyes. Her hair was a mass of dark curls, and her hands rested comfortably on a belly swollen with pregnancy. Jaime could never harm a woman with child, even if she did mean him ill.

For some reason he did not understand, Jaime collapsed back to his knees. If this woman would kill him, he could do nothing but make it easier for her. At least she was a less horrid sight than some creature with large jaws.

With softness in her posture and compassion in her eyes, the woman rested a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, my son. Such suffering… Be at peace. All will be well."

Even as he fought to keep his guard up, Jaime felt his eyes well. "Who are you to promise such things? I have not had peace for as long as I have lived."

Regret filled her heart-shaped face and she squeezed his shoulder. "You have not been dealt an easy hand, that much is true."

"And what could you possibly claim to know of my trials?" Jaime asked, shrugging her delicate fingers from him as he stood.

There was no fear in her at his sudden movement, only a kind of sweet peace that called to his battered soul. "We have known you since the day of your birth, my son. I am the Mother. Do you not recognize us?"

Jaime's mind ground to a full stop as he struggled to process her words. The Mother? Was he in the presence of one of the Seven? Surely not. He had always assumed that, when he moved from this world, he would be cursed by the gods, not spoken to with love and compassion. Even the Mother, the member of the Seven known for mercy, could not be so kind. And yet, his soul cried out for the peculiar comfort he had taken from her touch and her words.

"I- I know not what to think," he hedged.

With a bittersweet smile, she stepped away from him and wrapped her shapeless cloak around herself. Even as she twisted away from him, her form grew taller and broader. When the cloak fluttered away once more, the Mother had been replaced by a man whose height, golden-hued skin, and black hair marked him as YiTish.

"You are one of my own, a warrior," he said sternly. "You survive only based on your instincts. You know the truth. Who else would have sent the dreams you've had of late, if not the Seven?"

At the words of the Warrior, Jaime's spine snapped back into a semblance of attention that only served to remind him of the gaping space his sword hand had once occupied. With newly-piqued anger, he snapped, "As a warrior, I would think you would know how to give a warning. You only revealed to me that something terrible was to happen after months of dreaming about a bloody _bird_! Charmingly cryptic and not at all helpful!"

The Warrior's gaze darkened into something pitying and full of disappointment, leaving Jaime feeling hollow. His words, when they came, were far worse. "I thought you one of mine, called to serve your country, your king, and your gods. Now I find an ungrateful child rather than the intelligent leader I expected. It seems I was mistaken. You fight a great battle, soldier. Do you truly intend to turn tail and flee rather than face the challenge directly?"

The Warrior's tone made it clear that he was prompting Jaime, commanding him to vow that he would do better in the future. Jaime laughed, the sound low and rage-filled. "And how would you expect me to redeem myself? I've lost my sword hand and likely my place in the Kingsguard."

When he finally looked back at the Warrior in expectant frustration, he had changed to another, the Maiden, if he was to go by her smooth skin, golden hair, and green eyes. She bore more than a passing resemblance to Cersei, but her gaze held joy and warm humor rather than censure and cold calculation.

Even as he wondered when he had begun to think of Cersei in such a way, Jaime heard the Maiden speak. "Why would your exclusion from the Kingsguard factor into your redemption?"

"Were you not listening?" Jaime asked, irritated. "My only talent is in wielding a sword and I can no longer do that. How else am I meant to perform any great deeds?"

Her freckled nose crinkled. "Whoever told you that swordplay was your only ability? The gods are not so creatively limited that every person receives only one innate talent. You have more potential than that. You simply need to work at honing other skills."

"Yes, you are correct," Jaime agreed, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "There are so many entries concerning great knights who laid down their swords and took up banner-sewing instead."

The corner of the Maiden's wide mouth quirked, though her wide eyes were filled with a sympathy. With a motion of the cloak, she too was gone, replaced by a wizened old woman carrying a lantern. She was depicted in a number of Septs, so Jaime had no difficulty in recognizing the Crone. Her hair was snow white and still thick. Her dark eyes were framed by deep wrinkles, but still held a keen intelligence.

With such a solemn appearance, Jaime was somewhat taken aback when she reached to slap at his uninjured arm and shoulder. His surprise was apparent in the confused sound he involuntarily loosed.

"Foolish child," the Crone spat. "You think always of great deeds, legends to keep your legacy alive when you've gone, but you are still so blind."

Jaime drew himself up, affronted by the old woman's words. "I am banned from fathering children as a member of the Kingsguard-"

The Crone cut him off with a loud cackle. "And you've let that vow stop you, eh? You have fathered children, you just cannot _claim_ them as your own, and that is a problem unto itself. But we were speaking of great deeds."

"And how I have none to my name, yes," Jaime summarized briefly.

Her thin arms swayed as though she longed to hit him again. "Your perception of great deeds is narrow and incorrect, child. You have some to your name, though they doubtless mean little to you as they have earned you no great acclaim." Jaime arched a brow and she explained slowly, "Your protection of King's Landing by killing the Mad King?"

"Ah, so when they are called 'great' deeds, it is a farce. They truly mean 'deeds that will earn you scorn throughout all the Seven Kingdoms'. Forgive me for missing that. I learn slowly; it is my most constant detriment, as I am certain you well know."

The Crone gritted her few teeth and swung the lantern with menace. It was only after she was already gone that Jaime realized she had been wrapping herself in the cloak. A large man stood before him now, looking every inch the Wildling berserker who featured in so many poorly-told tales about life north of the Wall.

In contrast to his threatening appearance, the Smith appeared to be something of a gentle giant. At the moment, he seemed embarrassed, sheepish even. One hand rubbed at the thick apron protecting his clothing from the sparks that would emanate as he pounded hot iron into swords, his calloused fingers nervously smoothing over the fire-frayed fabric.

"What the Crone meant," he began, caution in his painfully deep voice, "was that all great deeds require a great sacrifice in return."

"Few of those detailed in the book required any sacrifice whatsoever," Jaime argued.

The Smith laughed, a chuckle that rolled like thunder. "We speak of _true_ great deeds, not those farces celebrated by men in our name. You have now performed three deeds deemed by the Seven to be great. The first was killing the Mad King, for which you sacrificed your reputation. The second was accompanying Kyren Asheworth on her journey of healing after she was so grievously injured, for which you sacrificed your dearest relationship. The third was your protection of Brienne of Tarth, for which you sacrificed your sword hand."

"Unwilling sacrifices, each of them," Jaime grumbled ungraciously.

"Are they?" the Smith asked, peering at Jaime with curiosity in his eyes. "Deeds become truly great because they will be remembered with gratitude for all the days of the recipient's life. Take, for example, Brienne of Tarth. She is a noble servant of the Seven who has upheld every vow she has taken and you have saved her from suffering beyond reason. She is equally as important as you in the war that wracks Westeros and you have done us a great service in saving her, yet our gratitude cannot begin to approach that which she holds for you. Would you truly refuse to make those same decisions, should the situations be repeated?"

Jaime remained quiet for a long moment, weighing his response with care. The Smith allowed him time for thought, remaining patiently silent with only his expectant eyes warning that the subject would not be dropped.

"I believe," he admitted eventually, "that I would do much the same thing in each circumstance, though I am not saintly enough to pretend I would not attempt to spin them into one which falls further in my favor."

The Smith shook his head slowly, a rueful smile on his tanned face as he wrapped the cloak around his singed apron and twisted to reveal a man who was several inches shorter than the Smith, but no less powerful for the height difference. His aristocratic nose, stern mouth, and commanding bearing made him a figure that should have put Jaime on edge, but the wrinkles in the dark skin around his eyes and mouth spoke of a man who smiled often.

This was, no doubt, the Father. Jaime lowered his head in a slight bow, a sign of respect for the man who would one day judge his soul and likely find it wanting.

"Look at me, son," the Father said in a carefully-modulated voice. Jaime obeyed the clear instruction and was shocked by the warmth he found on that intimidating face. "You have done quite well for how little you were given. You were born into wealth and power, but lacked instruction on the correct way to utilize such gifts. In that way, you have lived a life of trial and experimentation until you reached a balance you could maintain."

"Father…" Jaime said slowly, shocked at how natural the title fell from his lips when with every address of Tywin, it had felt like poison drawn from a wound. "I must know... why? Why has such a sacrifice been asked of me? I feel as though I have been damned. The only tool given to me to use in order to save my soul has been taken from me. Why?"

To no one's greater shock than his own, Jaime found that he could not hold eye contact with the Father. Where the others of the Seven were easily spoken to, easily mocked and dismissed, the Father held his attention - and his respect.

The Father sighed. "My son, you are capable of things other than battle and violence. However, you are not entirely incorrect; you are indeed being punished."

"Why?" Jaime asked again, an edge of impatience creeping into his voice.

"You have broken nearly every vow you took in our name. Do you realize such a thing?"

Jaime's cheeks flushed dark, but he refused to look away again. "It has been brought to my attention."

"As you appear to prefer such a practice, I will speak plainly with you. The breaking of such a number of vows was forgiven with your first sacrifice. Siring three incestuous children, all illegitimate, was atoned for by the end of your relationship with your sister. The future atrocities you would have committed in our name have been negated by the loss of your sword hand."

"And killing the Mad King? Surely that should number among my sins?" Jaime asked caustically.

"You protected the residents of an entire city. I judge the souls of the dead - as is my duty - but I would not have relished weighing such a large number that day, especially so many whose lives would have been stolen before the proper time. Perhaps, with attention, you will realize that there is a reason your first sacrifice was the least painful…"

"But how do I carry on with this?" Jaime demanded, brandishing the stump of his arm in the Father's face.

"You must forge a new path, my son. The gifts which once came so easily will now cause you to struggle. You must hone other weapons, for your land is at war and you must continue in the battle. It is foretold."

"But _how_?" Jaime asked once more.

The Father merely smiled at him and wrapped the cloak around his shoulders. With a quick mental tally, Jaime realized that he had met all of the Seven save the last, the Stranger. Even as he thought it, the cloak - having fallen to the ground with the disappearance of the Father - gave a twitch. Jaime watched, enthralled in his eagerness to see the face of the Stranger.

He jolted back when the cloak exploded outward, catching sight of a familiar black beak and grey-tipped red feathers as the object flew past him. Jaime whipped around to find that the Weirwood tree had regenerated itself. The phoenix glided down until it was perched on an empty branch, a different one than that which held its nest. It peered down at him with intelligent yellow eyes.

"You? You are the Stranger?" he asked, stunned.

It came as no shock when the bird did not answer, but Jaime still fought with the familiar sense of rage that filled him at the very appearance of the creature. Of course, now that he knew the phoenix was actually the Stranger in a disguise, he was far less inclined to act on his anger than he had been in the past.

"You must live, Kingslayer," the phoenix told him in a human voice. It was a strange voice, straddling the line between gentle male and throaty female. He had heard the voice before, and chills marched down Jaime's arms at the recognition of the voice that he had last heard singing him the lullabye warning him of his own doom, removing even the hint of irritation he experienced at the Stranger's use of the hated name.

"So I have been told, yet I see not how. Even should I long for life, Locke will keep it from me. He ensures that I have little to drink and nothing to eat. Life itself flees from my deformity."

"A means will present itself. For now, the one you have saved holds a stake in ensuring your survival. Relay to her your newfound need to survive, but speak nothing of these dreams."

Jaime gave a sarcastic chuckle. "And have the entirety of Westeros believing that I have lost my sanity? I believe these dreams and resulting conversations will remain a most closely-guarded secret, unless they are revealed by you."

Had the phoenix's beak been capable of such a movement, Jaime believed it would have smiled. "There is little chance of such a thing. The Seven communicate directly with only a very remarkable few."

"And how did I earn such a right?" Jaime asked. The question was sharp, but his tone revealed it for what it truly was: a humble sort of wonder mixed with a firm doubt that he deserved such a thing. "As the Father told me only a moment ago, I have broken nearly every vow I have ever sworn in your name."

"That is true, but the circumstances in which you broke them partially protects you from the consequences of such actions. More importantly," the phoenix said, cocking its head to fix him with an impressive stare, "your future is entwined with that of Westeros itself. The fate of the living world hangs in a very delicate balance. Should even one factor fail before the correct time, all will be lost."

Jaime frowned and began to ask what any of the explanation was meant to reveal, but the phoenix spoke before he could. "Wake now, Jaime Lannister. There is much which must be done. Death approaches rapidly."

The tree, the phoenix, and the darkness of the surrounding world disappeared in a spiraling pinprick until Jaime found himself attempting to sit up with a gasp.

Brienne's familiarly ugly face was twisted into a gentle expression that gave her a shadow of beauty as she pushed him back down. He was lying on the ground with his head cradled in her lap and was taken aback by how comfortable he was - even with the renewed burning in the swollen flesh that formed the stump of his right hand.

"Water," he croaked, and fought a smile at Brienne's look of surprised pleasure as she allowed him to drink from the skin of water held between her bound hands.

* * *

Author's Note \- Bless you, dear reader, for surviving this _monster_ of a chapter! It's a full thousand words longer than the previous longest chapter and it is a beast. Wish I could say it'll be the longest one... Shout-out to Zaisha786 for the encouragement! Thank you for reading and please drop a review! I'll see you next week!


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**The Worth Of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _A Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four

"We've done it, Sotam," Kyren announced to the stallion, dropping an armful of kindling as she did so. "Crossed the Timetbres and lived to tell the tale."

Speaking to one's horse was a bit peculiar, but their journey through the Timetbre mountain range south of Braavos had been dangerous and lonely. Kyren liked to believe that she and Sotam had forged a closer bond than before as they had relied so heavily upon each other during their travels. Food was rare on the mountain trails, and Kyren had rationed both dried game and oats to make sure neither she nor Sotam would waste away as they battled the cold, rainy cliffs of the Timetbre trail.

She had been perhaps a bit too frugal with her own food supply. Her clothing hung loosely around her and - though there had been little opportunity to see her reflection - Kyren could feel her bones through her pale skin far more easily than she had been able before beginning her journey. It was thanks only to the travels and her training sessions that Kyren had not lost an equal amount of muscle.

With the desire to rectify her lost mass, Kyren had set about arranging the firewood she had gathered and began plotting a veritable feast formed from the game she still had on-hand. Besides the obvious benefits, Kyren was certain that Sotam would appreciate losing some of the weight from the packs he constantly carried.

With her chosen campsite, Kyren was far enough from the road that she would not be disturbed and close enough that she did not need to worry about being robbed. It was an excellent location, allowing for high visibility and surrounded by enough brush and leaves that few would be able to surprise her. That was how, when the two men arrived at her camp, Kyren was able to meet them with a casually-drawn sword.

"Begging your pardon, miss," the shorter of the men said, voice low and soothing. "We saw your fire and wished to ask if we could share in your camp for the night."

Kyren surveyed him and his companion thoroughly, sword remaining raised throughout her study. The man who had spoken waited patiently with kind eyes, seeming to urge her that he was harmless. Kyren did not fall for such a trap, but he did seem less than violent. The man with him, however, could easily prove to be a problem. He was as pale as Kyren, but he glared at the world through a narrowed, spite-filled gaze, lip curled as though he was disgusted by what he found and - as much as she wished to turn them away solely because of this - Kyren could not find herself to disagree with the jaded weariness he wore. Both men looked far more ragged than she did, clothes more hole than cloth and thin to the point of discomfort. They would not require much effort to overcome if the situation should arise.

"My horse bites," she said shortly, sliding her sword back into its scabbard. "If you come too close to me, he will attack you and I will gladly join him."

"We mean no harm," the first man offered and Kyren smiled ruefully.

"If you believe me clever enough to be an asset to your camp, you surely should believe me too clever to take your promises as fact. However, you can do something for me. A gesture of goodwill, as it were."

The pale man spoke at last, a vicious drawl escaping his thin lips. "And why should we do anythin' for you? We could take what we want and leave you dead."

Before Kyren could draw a weapon, the pale man's companion stepped into his path. "We will do no such thing. This lady was kind enough to offer us a fire for the evening." He turned to Kyren, giving a solemn half-bow. "Whatever you ask, we will gladly do for you if it is in our power."

"I do my best to keep myself combat trained, but my regular forms have grown stale. Would you happen to be proficient in a fighting style that does not rely upon swords or grappling?"

The man's dark brows shot up and he exchanged a grin with his companion. "I have some skill with the staff, as it happens."

"If you will consent to teach me, I will gladly share my provisions with you this evening," Kyren offered, praying that the man would accept her terms. She had never met any in Westeros who had claimed to be proficient with a staff. If she was to travel through Essos, she would be well-served to learn as much as she could.

"It would be my honor," the dusky-skinned man accepted. "First, I believe introductions are in order. I am Gyllario Irriros, but you may call me Gyll. This is Ordes zo Dhiin."

"Don't call me anythin' shorter'n Ordes," Ordes deadpanned and shared a smirk with Kyren. With a simple display of humor, she could more readily accept the previously unpleasant man as a companion.

For an unexplainable reason, Kyren was compelled to give her true name, but to be honest - even so far from the unquestioned power of the Lannisters - courted disaster. "I am Alis Waters."

"Well, Alis," Gyll answered, "It is lovely to make your acquaintance. Let us begin."

To Kyren's surprise, Gyll pulled a staff nearly her height from the pile of his belongings. She took a step backward, raising her hands with a chuckle. "Ease down, Ser. I have no weapon."

"Easily remedied," he said, unconcerned. With a smooth reach, he had extracted a matching staff from Ordes's things and tossed it to her. Kyren caught it clumsily and Gyll tilted his head. "You truly have never used a combat staff before?"

"Never," Kyren denied.

Gyll smiled broadly, his teeth flashing white against his dark skin. "This should be a treat, then."

And then he launched at her in a flurry of motion and Kyren was left to defend herself as best she could.

* * *

This was perfection.

Jaime lay sprawled across a large mattress in the sumptuous bedchamber he had been allotted within the grim walls of Harrenhal. The straw stuffed inside the mattress for padding was beginning to mildew slightly and the smell hung heavy in his nose. The borrowed clothes he was wearing fit oddly and pinched under the armpits. The room itself was expansive and richly-furnished, but it was cold and the corners were damp. There was a leak somewhere in the room that would require patching before the next winter fell upon Westeros.

Yet somehow, despite all the little discomforts, Jaime could not remember a time he had felt more at ease. As if his mind was eager to destroy the calm of his current mood, it prompted him to lift the unfamiliar lightness of his right arm to stare down at the stump, but even after doing so, his mood remained content. Though Jaime's right hand was gone - and it was a trauma he had yet to fully process - he had retained much of the arm itself.

The odd medicine man at Harrenhal, Qyburn, had attempted to convince Jaime that he should have more of the arm removed, citing the infection that was slowly creeping its way toward his heart. It was a fair point, well-made and well-presented, but after Jaime had lashed out with what was perhaps an improper level of violence, Qyburn had backed down. Instead, he had cut away the worst of the rotting flesh and used boiling wine to burn away the infection in the remaining flesh.

It had been the single most painful experience in Jaime's entire life thus far. Worse than any swordfight, more nauseating than any wound he had sustained while jousting, and easily more staggering than having his hand cut off in the first place, he had nearly fallen unconscious from the pain. He had managed to cling to his senses, though he had screamed himself utterly hoarse before Qyburn's treatment had ended.

Afterward, Qyburn had him escorted to the bathing room, which boasted several large tubs filled to the brim with pleasantly-steaming water funneled from the underground hot springs atop which Harrenhal was built. Jaime had not allowed Qyburn's assistant to stay beyond what little help he had required to remove his clothing, but he had been far from alone in the soothing water.

Admittedly, he could have done without falling unconscious during a bath with Brienne of Tarth looking on. She had seen him at what he had believed to be his worst - locked and collared in a cage, covered in his own filth - yet somehow, she was present each time his life proceeded to sink to ever-more impressive lows.

The scene had been far from perfect, yes, but Jaime came away with a new understanding of his curmudgeonly travel companion. Whether due to his weakened state or her own impatience with his venomous words, Brienne had revealed herself to him in far more important ways than the physical, though she had done that as well in a successful effort to force his silence. No, she had freely admitted to loving Renly Baratheon, had loved him in ways he did not desire, but upon discovery of his opposing attractions, Brienne had not turned from him in anger of embarrassment. Rather, she sought only to protect the man. Knowing that he would never return her feelings - that he was unlikely to even discover them - she wished only to keep him safe as he lived as he chose most appropriate.

It was true that she had been his guard for only a single day and perhaps love would have turned horribly to hatred and spite, but Jaime would bet every copper to his name that she would have remained loyal regardless. There was no true way to know how their coexisting lives would have woven together, but her love for the fallen would-be king still remained pure, untainted by anything except her guilt over his untimely demise.

With the words of the Smith ringing in his ears, Jaime could admit that Brienne was indeed a woman worthy of being rescued, however rarely she required any assistance to protect herself. In his relaxed musings, Jaime well knew that he had never experienced love the way Brienne had loved Renly Baratheon. Most of those he met cared only for what he could do for them. The purest form of love in his life was that between himself and Tyrion. Though to some extent, their shared blood was the source of their bond, Jaime liked to believe that he and his younger brother were alike in many ways. They were kindred spirits, of a sort.

It would be a rather singular experience, he reflected, to be loved by Brienne of Tarth. To be wholly accepted in spite of the things he had done, to have his few good traits recognized and admired… However, with a blunt honesty borne of the privacy of his thoughts, Jaime could admit that he did not see Brienne when he imagined forgiveness turned to love. Wide yellow eyes filled with laughter, a crooked nose scrunched in exasperation at his teasing, red hair tossed over a shoulder as she moved away from him.

Jaime shook his head sharply. Kyren hated him now that she had learned of his past. And why should she not? Her adopted family and the king they served had been well and truly decimated by Jaime and the rest of House Lannister. Between his actions and his intended deception, he had lost any chance with Kyren and he urged himself to come to terms with the loss. At the same time, his mind replayed her final retreat from him, reminding him of her posture, perfectly upright as befitted a proper soldier. He wondered what it would take to strip that pervasive sense of control from her and a moment later allowed himself a self-deprecating grin. It seemed he was not ready to leave thoughts of the fierce girl behind yet.

A knock at the door jerked him from pleasant thoughts, and Jaime's voice was sharp as he commanded the visitor to enter. It had not escaped his notice that the locks had been stripped from the chamber door and it swung open without protest.

A soldier dressed in ill-fitting armor - likely scavenged from the body of a less-fortunate man - stepped into the room, studying Jaime with unconcealed interest. Jaime stiffened as the man's gaze traveled from his long hair to his too-small tunic and remained at the level of his right wrist. Jaime could have told him that his curiosity was to remain unsatisfied as Qyburn had wrapped the bleeding stump in so much gauze that the hand appeared to almost have re-grown, but he felt no sense of helpfulness toward the man.

"I assume you've come for a reason rather than just to stare at royalty?" Jaime asked, reclining back on the bed in a leonine posture to better remind the man precisely whom he was staring at.

Though the soldier's mouth stretched in a jeering sort of smile, he said only, "Lord Bolton requests that you join him for the evening meal. I am to see that you're made ready, then escort you to the banquet hall."

Jaime sat up once more and spread his arms in a motion that allowed the insufficient sleeves of the tunic to pull up his forearms. He looked absolutely, utterly ridiculous, but if this was the best attempt on the part of the Bolton men to break his spirits, they were to be surprised. He allowed his head to loll forward until he was peering at the soldier through his hanging hair, eyebrows raised when he found the man staring at his stump with open fascination. "I would gladly join your lord for a meal, but I hesitate to appear before such a man dressed in this manner. Do you believe he will find my attire offensive? Perhaps offensive enough to find the men responsible and see to their punishment? I never heard names, but I do believe I could give several accurate, fairly detailed accounts of their appearance…"

The soldier said through gritted teeth, "You will be provided an over-tunic in order to appear respectable. Will that do?"

"Ser."

"What?"

"Ser," Jaime repeated with false patience. "I understand that you are not well-acquainted with me - or acquainted with me at all, for that matter - but I am a knight and as so, should be addressed as 'Ser Jaime' or simply 'Ser'. Much obliged."

The soldier's face reddened. "I will bear that in mind."

Jaime lifted one eyebrow still further up his forehead and smirked internally at the return of his natural sense of confidence as he cleared his throat expectantly.

The man glared and spat, " _Ser._ "

"Thank you, my good man. I will accompany you to meet with Lord Bolton the very moment I am properly attired."

Seeming an amusing mix of furious and bewildered, the soldier left Jaime's room as the knight lounged back on his molding mattress and savored the oft-missed sense of victory.

* * *

Kyren tossed aside her staff and scowled at Gyll. "That was a mean trick. Has your honor deserted you?"

Gyll threw his head back with the force of his laughter. "There is no honor in a proper fight! Only two people who are trying their best to kill the other and not be killed. Honor will get you killed."

Kyren shook her head but did not dispute his point. For one thing, Gyll had proven to be nearly impossible to debate. He spoke with quiet certainty and never altered his opinion. Ordes, for all of his ill-tempered impatience, was far more likely to be swayed by reason. But additionally, Kyren could not deny that honor had not saved Lord Stark's life and had protected precious few lives since.

"Best learn that lesson now, girl," Ordes said from his place by the smoldering remains of the fire. "You'll be on your own this very mornin'."

Nodding once to acknowledge the point, Kyren fought back an odd wave of sadness. She had traveled with Ordes and Gyll for a fortnight as all were journeying for the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe. From there, the two men would travel east to Norvos while Kyren followed the Rhoyne river south. Ordes had actually helped Kyren alter her planned route, warning that crossing the Flatlands was nearly akin to offering herself to be taken by pirates or captured by a Dothraki horde. Instead, he had advised her to follow the Rhoyne south - being careful to pass a place called The Sorrows before crossing west to Myr. Difficult as it would have been for her to believe only a short time before, Kyren respected the short-tempered man and trusted his advice.

When the three at last sat down to share a final meal before breaking down their camp, Gyll fixed Kyren with a stern look. "You still intend to go to Myr, do you not? No change in plan, no sudden desire to travel further south?"

With a bewildered sort of smile, Kyren tilted her head to the side. "None that I can claim. Are you suggesting that I should extend my stay in Essos?"

Gyll shrugged. "Stay in Essos as long as you like, but do not travel too far south. There is a woman in Slaver's Bay and she is disrupting the typical order of things. You will want to stay far from there."

"Why should I care what happens in Slaver's Bay?" Kyren asked curiously. "I am not a slave, nor do I own one."

Exchanging an exasperated look with Gyll, Ordes said, "This woman is killin' slavers, releasin' slaves, and disruptin' the slave trade altogether. All the slavers who usually conduct their business in the south will be travelin' elsewhere. All of Essos will be dangerous soon."

"Besides," Gyll added, "the woman in question is one of the last Targaryens. Westerosi have been sent to kill her before. I doubt she would let you get close enough to explain your reasons for being here if you were to be caught."

"I understand, and I thank you for the warning. I intend to follow Ordes's suggestion and travel south, then cut west to Myr. No shortcuts, no side-stepping, no sightseeing."

"Good girl," Gyll praised, and a smile tugged at the corner of Kyren's lips.

With a step toward Ordes, Kyren held his staff out in an attempt to return it to its rightful owner. Ordes's pale eyes flicked to the weapon for only a moment before he deliberately looked back to his meal. "You keep that, girl, and best hope you've learnt well. Lone female on the road is askin' for death, or somethin' worse."

Kyren beamed despite the menacing warning. Harsh words and dire threats, she had learned on their trip thus far, were Ordes's favorite things - and how he showed that he cared for another person's well-being. His gruff exterior provided camouflage for a man who took strangers under his protection somewhat readily. From what she had managed to grasp of the half-teasing conversations between Ordes and Gyll, that was precisely how the two had first begun to travel together.

Naturally, neither man would be comforted by her voicing these thoughts aloud, so Kyren merely settled on a nearby rock to tear at the dried rabbit and handful of berries that comprised her breakfast. All too soon, the three had finished their various foodstuffs and packed their belongings.

"Remember," Gyll reminded, "As you move south, you will find pole-boats. Hire one to take you past the Sorrows. _Do not_ leave the boat until you are well past the Bridge of Dream."

"Yes, you had mentioned that before," Kyren remembered with a frown. "Why does the Bridge of Dream represent such a threat?"

"Stone men," Ordes said succinctly, sharpening one of his blades while Sotam shied away from the rasping. Ordes fixed her with a stern look. "You heard of greyscale, girl?"

With several things making sudden sense to her, Kyren suppressed a shudder and nodded. "I know of it. Why are there so many afflicted in one place?"

Gyll frowned. "Volantis. For such a wonderful city, they refuse to attempt to treat the disease. Instead, they send the people upriver, depositing them at the Bridge of Dream. They also send some supplies, but I fear this has only trained the stone men to see boats as a guarantee of food."

This time, her shudder refused to be repressed. "I understand, and will hire a pole-boat the moment I see one."

Both men nodded and watched in silence as Kyren settled herself on Sotam's back.

"Safe travels, Alis Waters," Gyll bid her solemnly.

"Take care of yourself, girl," Ordes demanded.

With a sincerity that surprised even herself, Kyren said, "Thank you both. Go well."

* * *

"I hope your daring rescue was well worth the effort," Qyburn told him, censure thick in his soft voice. "You've torn every one of your scabs and the skin on your stump is ripped open. There is a significant risk of further infection, which could lead eventually to further required amputation-"

"No," Jaime interrupted sternly. "I will not lose more of my arm. Fix it however you wish. I care for little else."

With a clear mind, he would have been uneased by the gleam of interest and excitement that entered Qyburn's visage when faced with the prospect of dealing with Jaime's stump, but his mind was clouded by the adrenaline of having rescued Brienne from a fucking _bear._ He was humble enough to admit that the rescue had been a near thing - unnervingly so - but that it had been successful despite the odds gave Jaime hope that he could still be a warrior, even without his sword hand.

"Stitches," Qyburn muttered, more to himself than to Jaime. "The skin is delicate from trauma and from the boiling wine. Cauterization would only tear it further and deaden the nerves besides."

Jaime gritted his teeth. Stitching a wound closed was one of his least favorite medical procedures to endure. There was no need for milk of the poppy with such a routine practice, but being required to sit still and patient while the nagging sharpness of a needle passed through his skin over and again… It was a punishment, to be sure, but not so much of one that he would have chosen not to rescue Brienne of Tarth.

Ah, Brienne… he mused in the privacy of his thoughts. She had looked at him in a new way since his intervention in the planned battle to her death. After he had prevented her from being raped, she had moved from glares to looks of pity and scarcely-masked distrust. When he had left Harrenhal the first time, she demanded his promise to protect the Stark girls and seemed to trust that he would uphold his word. Now, she watched him with a mixture of confusion and respect. The trouble was that the respect in her eyes was tinged with a noticeable amount of affection and attraction.

He liked the woman, he truly did. She was not as ugly as he had at first believed her to be- especially now that he knew the loyal, steadfast, unquavering soul within the beast - but he found that he could not string her along for the sheer joy of it as he had previously done with many a female. No, he did not desire Brienne, and yet he valued that fragile respect in her eyes far more than he could begin to fathom, much less explain.

It would be a tricky thing to discourage her attraction without hurting her or making her feel less than worthy. Such things had never been his concern previously. Being found attractive by others had aided him in many a moment, and yet he could cruelly reject those same affections when they no longer benefited him. Any highborn ladies who chased after him were easily consoled, either by their equally highborn husbands or by a plethora of other young men who sought connections, finances, or sex.

With his lack of familiarity with the process of gentle discouragement in mind, Jaime almost wished that the journey to King's Landing would stretch a while longer than it was set to, but he tossed that thought away rapidly enough. With their Bolton escort, they could travel along the main highways and their route was noticeably more direct and efficient. They were set to arrive in less than a fortnight and Jaime fair itched to be reunited with his twin.

To return to King's Landing after so long and to finally be in Cersei's embrace one more was what he had dreamed of since the first night he had spent caged in Robb Stark's camp. The terrible sense of being off-balance, the loss of his sense of self, the nagging feelings of unworthiness… all of it would disappear when he saw the perfect face of the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

"If you are ready, Ser Jaime?" Qyburn asked politely, but Jaime's stump had been wiped clean of dirt and rust-colored smears of blood and the needle was threaded and waiting.

Rather than answer aloud, Jaime waved the ex-Maester to continue and settled back in the chair, thinking with pleasure of the threats Cersei would likely make to Lord Bolton and his men on behalf of Jaime's injury.

When the stitches were finally in place and the blood flowing from Jaime's stump had been staunched, he moved outside to breathe the crisp air in an attempt to settle his roiling stomach. It was of little surprise to himself when he was joined a short time later by Brienne of Tarth herself.

She moved to his side, but rather than join him in sitting on the ground, she stood at a position of guard, one large hand poised near the hilt of her sword. Her pale eyes scanned the surrounding hills, prepared to do battle with whom or whatever should emerge and pose a threat.

"Brienne," he sighed softly. "There is nothing around for at least a day's ride. Sit, please."

Stiffly, she eased to sit beside him. "Better?" she asked dryly.

His mouth twitched at her ever-kind manner. "Did you need something or did you simply come to marvel that I still live?"

"You must admit that you've defied several rather large odds," she hedged.

"For someone with such a large face, you are surprisingly difficult to read, but I know you. We've traveled together for far too long. I know something is on your mind." Brienne made no attempt to answer and Jaime sighed. "It will be far easier if you simply tell me."

"Who is Kyren?"

Feeling as though someone had punched him rather hard in the stomach, Jaime could only gape at her for a long moment as he struggled to gather his thoughts.

Brienne watched him with her amazingly blue eyes and nodded as though he had confirmed some suspicion of hers. "I believe that answers the question well enough."

"Where did you hear that name?"

Her wide mouth twitched up at one corner, though she did not seem truly amused. "You spoke often of her when you were feverish from the loss of your hand. On several occasions, you spoke _to_ her, for all the world as though she could hear you."

 _Control yourself, you dolt,_ a voice snapped in Jaime's mind, sounding unpleasantly like Tywin Lannister. With effort, Jaime smoothed his expression and deflected, "Kyren was a girl I knew in King's Landing, nothing more."

Narrowing her gaze, Brienne asked, "Was she an intelligent girl? Fierce? Well-traveled?"

Jaime snorted, choosing to only address the last query. "Hardly. She has left King's Landing on only a few occasions."

Brienne nodded. "I see. We must be speaking of two different girls who share the same name, then. How odd."

"Am I to assume that you know a girl named Kyren, then?" Jaime snapped, tense once more.

"I know of her, yes," Brienne replied, unbothered. "Lady Catelyn told me of her, instructed me to keep watch for her on our journey south. A red-haired girl in possession of some skill with weapons. She also mentioned that you and the Kyren in question have some form of a history, but I assume she must have been mistaken. My apologies."

She moved as if preparing to lumber to her feet, but Jaime caught at her tunic with his left hand. "What sort of a history?"

"The kind which must not have occurred if your favorite Kyren has never left King's Landing."

"Very well, you cruel thing! They are one and the same. What did Lady Catelyn tell you?"

Settling back onto the ground, Brienne fixed Jaime with a firm stare. "I must tell you that I only share this because I know it was not told to me in confidence. If it had been, the thought of betraying said confidence would never have crossed my mind."

"Yes, yes," Jaime agreed impatiently. "I am in awe of your profound sense of loyalty. Continue."

With a shake of her blonde head, she revealed, "Lady Catelyn said that you had accompanied the girl on the initial trip to King's Landing, especially after she was injured. She said there had been reports from a friend that you and Kyren continued to be close when she lived in the Red Keep, and… And that Kyren seemed shaken in the extreme to see you in that cage in Robb Stark's camp."

Puffing out a surprised breath, Jaime could only sit and stare blindly at the hills ahead of his seat. Summed up so neatly, it was plain that the girl had held some kind of affection for Jaime, even after her discovery of his less-than-knightly deeds. It had not all been a figment of his overeager imagination.

A wild surge of hope roared through him. Perhaps he had not irreparably damaged the fragile relationship he had shared with Kyren… yet, it was of little consequence. He was going home, home to King's Landing and to Cersei.

"I have other responsibilities to consider," he reminded himself aloud.

Brienne nodded her support. "Yes, I expect your duties as a Kingsguard will keep you occupied."

Jaime began to snap a sarcastic response - his indiscretions with his sister being public knowledge thanks to Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon - but cut himself short, realizing that Brienne was attempting to help keep his pride.

Swallowing that same pride, Jaime agreed, "I expect it shall take some time before I am as proficient with my left hand as I was with my right."

"Yes," she murmured in return, "A bit of time, nothing more." The hint of careful pity in her tone raised Jaime's hackles, but she rose to her rose before he could say something he would inevitably regret. "If you need nothing else, Ser Jaime, I believe I shall retire for the evening."

He gave a terse nod, but made no verbal response. Before the gentle clink of her armor had fully faded from his hearing, his mind had already moved back to her earlier words, all attempt at replacing the memories of Kyren with those of Cersei forgotten completely.

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Author's Note \- I apologize, I truly did mean to post this chapter a full week ago. However, this last section from Jamie's POV was originally part of the next chapter, but it made that particular installment over 7,000 words long, so I had to finish it and add it to this week. I also know some of you are getting frustrated by the lack of progress in their relationship, but don't worry, they will be back in the same general area soon!

Finally, a quick heads-up: I started my classes last week, which is the other reason for the delay. Updates are going to be odd for a while, at least until I figure out the best way to balance work, school, and occasional writing. I apologize in advance for that and promise that I am not abandoning this story, even if it has been a while since the last update.

Shoutout to WriterGirl1198 and GoDrinkPinesol624 for their reviews and to everyone who has followed/favorited this story! You guys keep me going! Thank you for reading, leave some feedback if you can, and have a wonderful day. Hope to see you soon!


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

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Chapter Twenty-Five

Kyren leaned out over the railing of the pole-boat, staring at the passing water while Sotam nuzzled her back. She patted him absently, but did not alter her gaze. The air was thick with humidity from the river, but the breeze created by their rather impressive speed kept the atmosphere on the deck from stagnating. The dark blue-grey of the water, lightened occasionally by a shallowly-drowned sandbank, was mesmerizing. Kyren could gladly spend the entirety of her southward voyage on the deck of the pole-boat.

Ordes and Gyll had been correct when they told her how easily-found pole-boats were once she passed the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe. In all reality, Kyren had fielded several offers to ferry her downriver, even with the added stipulation that Sotam accompany her. While she was still consumed by sorting through the heavily-accented offers being shouted out around her, a lone female figure had emerged from the crowd. Her long hair was such a deep shade of red that it nearly appeared purple in the bright sunlight. It was such a blatantly false color that the woman immediately earned a measure of respect from Kyren, a measure which only grew as she threatened the group as a whole. Her threats were violent in the extreme and vivid enough that Kyren found herself attempting to memorize them for use later - and they worked. The crowd cleared enough for Kyren to have a measure of peace to hear out the female captain.

She had introduced herself as Captain Zhandah Uknaari, but urged Kyren to call her Captain Zha. She smile broadly and appeared as friendly as she had threatening only a few moments before. Kyren was impressed despite herself and signed on to travel with Captain Zha as soon as the latter agreed to transport Sotam as well.

Kyren was pulled abruptly from her reverie when a hand clapped her on the back. She turned to find Captain Zha, hair pulled into a serviceable braid that was a direct match to Kyren's own. The woman grinned broadly. "Did I catch you unawares?"

Smiling in answer, Kyren moved a bit further down the deck. Sotam was eyeing the captain with the malevolence he took on only when he was preparing to nip someone. "Perhaps a bit. When do we aim to pass the Sorrows?"

Captain Zha surveyed the far bank of the Rhoyne with a practiced eye. "I expect we'll arrive in the Sorrows mid-morning tomorrow. It is good luck, that. There is no worse thing than to pass under the Bridge of Dream under cover of darkness."

"Would that not aid us in avoiding the stone men?" Kyren asked, curious about the disease so uncommon in Westeros.

"Unfortunately, it is not so," Captain Zha told her, raking purple hair away from her face. "The men in the later stages of the disease are unpredictable, easily-provoked. If they so much as hear a sound in the water, the will jump toward our boat. The light only means we have a hope of seeing any particularly determined individuals."

Kyren nodded, lost in thought. One of the other cabins on the small pole-boat was occupied by a couple who had been traveling the Flatlands before their progress had been halted by an oddly-active period of _khalasar_ raids. Privately, Kyren believed that she would rather have faced any number of Dothraki warriors than attempt to do battle on a boat with a man infected with greyscale, but many disagreed.

"Fear not, Alis Waters," Captain Zha assured firmly. "If you recall, I have ways of keeping my boat safe."

Kyren indeed knew of Captain Zha's precautions; they had been one of the major reasons she had chosen to travel with the woman rather than any other pole-boat captain. This particular boat had been outfitted with two large sheets of hammered brass, set on hinges which allowed them to be flipped up and over the small deck. They rested against each other at the top edge, turning the flat surface of the deck - Sotam's current space - into a steeply-angled surface. Any stone men looking to board the boat would either slip off immediately or do so by choice when they lost interest in the unreachable crew.

"When do you intend to deploy your solution?"

Captain Zha shrugged. "There is little chance of stone men raining from the sky until we reach the Bridge of Dream. There are dangers in using the sheets as well. Steering becomes a difficult thing and we cannot raise or lower the sails without placing one or more crew members in jeopardy. When we reach the outer sections of the Sorrows, we will put the sheets in place, no sooner."

True to the captain's predictions, the pole-boat became surrounded by vines, fog, and crumbling stone by sunrise the next morning. The meager light that penetrated the gloom was hardly enough to see, and it was only thanks to the skill of Captain Zha's two deckhands that they did not collide with one of the riverbanks.

After some hours of careful maneuvering, Captain Zha barked out, "Men, raise the sheets!" The deckhands scurried to obey, and the captain turned to Kyren solicitously. "You may wish to return to your cabin, Alis. This section of our journey is not for the faint of heart."

The captain walked away to deliver a similar message to the other passengers, but Kyren remained where she was. If there was danger, it would only help for her to be on deck with Sotam. Any strange noises could make the horse react with alarm, and those noises could in return attract attention from the stone men.

And so Kyren remained on the deck, stroking Sotam's muzzle comfortingly as the two sheets of hammered bronze rose high overhead, lifting further and further before being lowered gingerly together. The deck was shrouded in utter darkness, every noise below causing an odd echo.

Kyren had made herself comfortable some time ago when she heard Captain Zha whisper, "We are about to pass under the bridge."

This declaration was met with two soft 'ayes' from the deckhands and Kyren realized with a start that she was the only passenger who had chosen to remain on deck. The sheets fit so well against each other than Kyren could not even begin to see out, until she found a small uncovered section at the very bow of the pole-boat. It was the size of a single gold dragon, and she was forced to press her eye against it in an attempt to see anything at all.

Between the tendrils of fog floating just above the surface of the water, Kyren caught snatches of a large bridge soaring overhead. The pale, graceful marble archways which made up the supports were largely overgrown with a thick grayish moss, and several of them appeared to have come splashing down some time ago. The Bridge of Dream rose from the chillingly pale water, higher and higher until it dominated her small view.

Seized with a sudden surge of foreboding, Kyren scrambled to her feet and crossed back to Sotam as quickly as she could while remaining utterly silent. Even so, her fingers had just made contact with the warm velvet of his neck when a heavy _thud!_ reverberated across the covered darkness of deck. Kyren shuddered at the realization that one of the stone men had attempted to board the pole-boat and had only been prevented from doing so by Captain Zha's clever solution.

In the interminable time required for them to pass under the Bridge of Dream, several more deafening clatters came. Each one made Sotam twitch as violently as Kyren herself, though both were careful not to make a single sound.

When some time had lapsed without any impact, Kyren relaxed slightly and returned to gently patting Sotam. She expected that they had passed the Bridge of Dream and that the sheets would be pulled back at any moment. To her surprise, however, the deckhands began a quiet conversation. They seemed to be standing on the far side of the pole-boat, but she could hear every word in the echoes.

"'Bout past the Sorrows, I expect."

"Aye. Not too long before we reach Volantis."

"Ease yourself. We still have to make the stop."

The second man groaned. "I forgot. I suppose we will move faster afterward, though."

"With a bit of gold, besides," the first man agreed.

Kyren shivered. The sensation of crawling that traveled up and down her spine warned that there was danger here, that this was a conversation she was not to have overheard. With a swiftness and silence that impressed even herself, Kyren hurried across the deck and slipped into the safety of the cabin she shared with another of the passengers.

Eyva Hutter, a strikingly pretty Westerosi girl, glanced up from her tightly-clasped hands and offered the ghost of a smile. "Have we passed it yet?" she whispered.

Kyren nodded, but could not fault the other female for her worry. She crossed to her hammock and settled gingerly across it. Eyva, still pale under her permanent tan, turned to face her. "I heard the sounds. Do you think any are still aboard?"

"No, I do not believe so," Kyren denied. "It sounded as if they all slid off directly."

Eyva relaxed instantly and Kyren marveled at the girl's trusting nature. She had confided in Kyren the moment they had first closed the door to their shared cabin, revealing that she had been born to and raised by a Westerosi mother while her Essosian father remained in his home country. When Eyva's mother had passed away earlier in the year, the fair-haired girl had decided to search for her father in his home city of Valysar.

It had taken a few days for her next bit of trust: Eyva had shyly asked how Kyren kept her arms so trim. Kyren explained about her training with the staff - thinking that her prowess with a sword and throwing daggers would be best left unmentioned - and obliged when Eyva had asked to be taught a few moves. To the shock of both girls, Eyva had proven a remarkable talent, and Kyren had taught her nearly everything she knew over the course of their brief voyage.

With the safety of the younger girl in mind, Kyren turned to her and spoke lowly, "I believe we may be running into some trouble soon, Eyva, and I wish for you to be ready."

Eyva's face fell into an expression of distress before she carefully smoothed it into one of calm preparedness. "What would you wish me to do?"

Kyren sighed, raking a hand through her dark red hair. "I am uncertain. I do not know what form this trouble may take. All I can advise is that you remain on guard and watch for any suspicious behaviors on part of the crew."

"Should I alert Roghis and Jara?"

She considered that for a long moment. Roghis na Oshir and his wife Jara had been traveling from Pentos to Tyrosh when they were interrupted by an odd movement of _khalasars_ in the Flatlands. She finally shook her head. "They seem nice enough, but neither is trained in any sort of combat."

She knew this for a fact. She had boarded the pole-boat and immediately singled out Roghis as the best potential to learn another form of combat. He towered over her and the rest of the crew, and his muscular arms were nearly as big as Kyren's head. However, he claimed to know nothing of fighting and professed himself to be something of a pacifist except in cases of self-defense. His wife, Jara, had agreed with this, claiming that her own talents lie elsewhere.

"Daris, then?"

Kyren stared at Eyva for a long moment before both females burst into belly-shaking laughter. Daris Lash was a mild-mannered historian who had accompanied them down the Rhoyne in order to pursue his studies of ancient Valyria. It was a fascinating subject, Kyren readily admitted, but Daris was well-known for cornering the other passengers at mealtimes in order to speak at length of mundane details. The man even wore a sliver of stone attached to a chain round his throat, a chunk of rock from a Valyrian temple. He seemed to believe that it would bring him luck. He would need luck, Kyren reflected grimly, if they were indeed to enter a dangerous situation. Daris was so unfit for combat that the mere suggestion was comical.

"It would appear," Kyren said, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of one eye, "that you and I are the only ones capable of withstanding some sort of attack."

"You more than I," Eyva disputed with a grin. "I only wave the staff about and hope I hit something."

"I believe that still makes you more dangerous than Daris Lash."

It was in the small hours of the next morning that Kyren woke abruptly, blinking dazedly in the darkness of the cabin. In the few moments required for her to wake fully, she became aware that the pole-boat had stopped all forward motion, yet she could not remember a sudden halt. Coming to the conclusion that they must have made their unplanned stop, Kyren woke Eyva with a hand across the girl's mouth - suitably impressed when Eyva woke and raked her nails down Kyren's arm immediately in defense before she realized who Kyren was - and motioned that they should leave the cabin.

Kyren's staff was strapped across her back and her corset hugged her waist as they crept from the windowless room while Eyva had no weapon, but it did not matter. They were greeted by a number of unfamiliar men, dragged to the main deck of the pole-boat, and forced to their knees. The men had lit several lanterns to illuminate the dark area and brought them close to the faces of both females. Thus blinded, Kyren had been rapidly stripped of her weapon, though she managed to watch surreptitiously as it was leaned against a nearby wall.

There were five strange men aboard the pole-boat, and they remained with Kyren and Eyva as the two deckhands went to rouse the other passengers.

"Well?" Captain Zha asked, emerging from her own cabin. "Did I not promise you the best? These two are Westerosi, and I have a Westerosi male. There is also a Ghiscari couple. The male is large, a good candidate for the fighting pits."

"Bah!" the lead slaver jeered. "Could you not have found better specimens? The one with the yellow hair is pretty enough, but this one?" He jerked his hand at Kyren and shook his head despairingly. "You know they always fetch more when they are pretty."

Captain Zha was unconcerned, moving behind Kyren to undo her braid. "The moment your buyers see this skin and hair, they will care for nothing else. It captures the attention. It did mine."

After fanning Kyren's hair out and around her shoulders, Captain Zha circled back to stand before the group, shooting Kyren a roguish grin as she did so. Daris was kicked viciously to kneel beside her and Kyren was seized with a sudden fury too intense to be borne. She spat out, "How could you do this? Sell people? Have you no soul, no honor?"

"Honor, no, but I do have a soul and it thirsts for gold," Captain Zha quipped before returning her gaze to the slaver and adopting a more businesslike tone. "You do not make deals with me only because I offer superior product, but because I allow you to purchase from me while remaining unaccosted by that white-haired bitch. Unless you would prefer to battle a dragon to sell your slaves?"

The slaver grumbled, but before he could reply, one of the deckhands returned, red-faced and winded. "Captain, we need you. Roghis does not wish to join us."

Captain Zha grinned victoriously. "As I said, an excellent candidate for the fighting pits. Do you care to see if your men can handle him?"

With a gesture from the slaver, three men accompanied the captain as they moved toward the commotion taking place in and outside of the cabin shared by Roghis and Jara. The remaining head slaver and his eccentrically-dressed first mate surveyed Kyren, Eyva, and Daris.

"The middle Westerosi is familiar," the head slaver said slowly, indicating Kyren.

"I believe that several parties in Westeros are searching for her, Captain," his first mate said. "If so, she would fetch a price far prettier than that face."

The slaver snorted appreciatively, but his expression quickly turned to a snarl as he whipped around to glare at Sotam. "Damn that creature! It bit me again! Hand over my sword. I shan't give it another chance to do the same."

"Now, Eyva!" Kyren hissed under her breath, and while the crew and the slavers were fully occupied, they rose to their feet, tugging Daris along with them. Silently, Kyren retrieved and handed the staff to Eyva, giving her an encouraging nod when she faltered.

Unsheathing a dagger from her corset, Kyren crept up behind the head slaver, flanked by Eyva, who stood behind the first mate. Daris, shifting nervously and wringing his hands, stood between them and the rest of the crew at Roghis's door. With a gesture, Kyren counted down until they moved to attack, and she reached between the slaver's sword and his torso to stab him swiftly in the heart, slicing along the line between his ribs to inflict as much damage as possible.

As he clapped a hand to his chest, turning to gape at her, Kyren pressed a hand over his mouth and wrestled his body over the side of the pole-boat. Eyva, who had appeared to nearly collapse the skull of the first mate with the force of her staff strikes, did the same beside her. Kyren helped her lift the man's body overboard, attempting to minimize the splash.

"Hurry!" Daris shouted, and Kyren could not remember if there had been words exchanged between them before that moment. She turned to find that they had attracted the attention of the remaining crews. Two of the remaining slavers and one of the deckhands raced over to them, weapons drawn. Daris side-stepped the first few, but ducked an attack by one of the slavers, coming up once more to firmly embed his sliver of Valyrian temple stone in the neck of the man before stealing his sword to slice it free once more.

Impressed despite herself, Kyren turned to fight the slaver before her, but he proved quite proficient with a sword and she was armed only with a dagger. In the flashes of background she caught past him, Kyren watched as Captain Zha approached, sword unsheathed. The woman was distracted, however, when Roghis emerged from his cabin with an unholy roar and broke the deckhand's neck with a motion so decisive that he was almost decapitated completely.

Fending off the slaver's sword with her stronger right hand, Kyren reached into her corset with her left, pulled a dagger free, and launched it at the man. He batted it out of the air with his blade, but the motion cost him dearly: he had left himself unguarded, and Kyren sank another dagger deep into his eye. As he howled in anguish, she took a cue from Daris and confiscated the man's sword before using it to slice his throat.

"Alis!"

The cry rang out, and through her haze of adrenaline, Kyren knew only that the name should sound familiar, but a long moment passed before she remembered it as her assumed name and turned to respond. She was greeted immediately by the sight of Eyva's throat opening beneath her chin. The girl's pale eyes were wide and terrified, the light in them fading even as she was unceremoniously thrown overboard.

A strangled cry of rage clawed its way free of Kyren's throat and she threw every dagger remaining in her corset with deadly precision, ending the deckhand's life in the most painful way she could fathom with the tools she had.

When his body finally slumped to the deck, Kyren whipped around to find another outlet for her fury, but found her way blocked by Roghis. His heavily-muscled arms tensed as he set gentle hands on her shoulders.

"Be at ease," he said soothingly. "The fight has ended."

"Eyva…"

"There is nothing more you can do for her. Come, breathe with me."

Feeling as though she were wrapped in cotton, Kyren inhaled and exhaled as Roghis did. A sense of calm did indeed settle over her, though it seemed false. With a stamp of Sotam's hooves on the deck, Kyren moved to stroke the animal's muzzle, but pulled away as she saw the blood that coated her hands.

"Go on, girl," Roghis encouraged behind her. "A horse cares little if you've blood on your hands, and the company will help you both."

Kyren choked out a laugh. That was a fair summary of her entire camaraderie with Sotam. When her red-stained hands had stopped shaking, she turned back to Roghis. "What happened to Captain Zha?"

Roghis gestured over his shoulder. "She is in front of Daris's cabin."

Hoping viciously to see a scene of death and pain, Kyren was stunned to find Captain Zha on her knees with Jara behind her, pressing a knife to her throat. The final member of the slaver's crew was lying beside them with blood trailing from one temple, but she could see his chest rise and fall with his breath.

"Why do they still live?" she asked, voice thick with disgust.

"Because we do not kill people," Daris said from his seat on a nearby pile of ropes, voice more certain than she had ever heard it previously.

"And why should that right be reserved solely for people like them?" Kyren snapped, returning Captain Zha's glare even as the burgundy-haired female spat aggressively at her feet.

"We will take her boat downriver to the next settlement," Jara said calmly. "There, we will release her and the slaver to the proper authorities."

Kyren glanced at the faces of the other passengers - all of which were set in expressions of firm determination - and knew she would never convince them to act otherwise. She sighed. "Very well, but we will not give them the opportunity to escape."

With a brief glance in the cabins, it became apparent that the one Kyren had shared with Eyva would be the easiest to clear. Under Kyren's direction, it was cleared of anything that could be used as a weapon before they turned their attention to the slaver and Captain Zha.

"We must bind them," Jara told Kyren, and the girl nodded grimly.

It would be a dangerous thing to approach either of the balefully-glaring prisoners, but Kyren glanced at the other passengers before starting for them, nimbly catching the sections of rope Roghis tossed in her direction.

The slaver was bound first, and Kyren narrowly avoided the thick wad of saliva he spat in her direction, tying the rope so that it ground into a cut on his wrist in revenge. Roghis pulled the man to his feet and toward the emptied cabin while Kyren plotted how to bind Captain Zha, a far trickier prospect.

"Turn around, hands back," Kyren ordered.

The now ex-captain hissed venomously at her, but moved to do as she asked. As she rose slightly to her knees in order to turn, Zha pulled a blade from her boot and swung at Jara before attacking Kyren, who made a startled noise as the blade sliced viciously into the skin on the side of her neck. As Zha busied herself in trying to behead Kyren, Daris moved past the stunned Jara to strike Zha firmly on the head with one of the heavy poles they had been using to nudge the boat away from the riverbank.

Zha slumped to the deck and Kyren bound her wrists tightly before allowing Jara and Roghis to move her as well. Both captives had been placed inside the cabin before its door was thoroughly secured. The group then settled into an uneasy silence.

"I suppose you could stay in Captain Zha's cabin," Jara suggested quietly.

Kyren shrugged. "It does not truly matter. I expect I will not sleep regardless of location."

"How do we expect to navigate the boat downriver?" Roghis asked. "I know only the little I have gleaned from watching the deckhands work."

Daris cleared his throat. "I have studied the Essosian pole-boat thoroughly. I am capable of guiding us at least until the next port. For now, I believe you all could benefit from a solid bit of rest."

Jara and Roghis murmured thanks and expressed concern for Kyren before retiring to their cabin. Kyren, contrarily, found herself unable to bear entering the cabin of the treacherous captain and besieged with adrenaline and mourning besides, and thus sat on the main deck and spoke to Sotam until the light of the sun began to filter through the trees.

Daris tried only once to convince her to care for the wound on her neck, but Kyren barked at him with such fervor that he gladly left her alone after that. Sweat caused from the ever-present humidity rolling off the river stung the nasty gash on her neck, but Kyren embraced the pain, using it to fuel her remembrances of Eyva, the girl who would never know her father.

A slight haze of fog rested on the surface of the water in the orangeness of the dawn and the trees dripped with morning dew. Birds chirped as they flitted about and dragonflies skimmed the ripples of the river. It was a moment of peace and serenity, broken abruptly by a muffled series of shouts and a loud succession of thudding.

Kyren started up from where she had sat, half-dozing, against Sotam's warm side. The noise had undeniably issued from her old cabin, the current location of Zha and the slaver. As she approached the door, Kyren's spine straightened to see a pool of thick redness seeping from the gap between the rough been door and the deck. Though Daris was occupied in piloting the ship, Jara and Roghis were awake and nearby, as tense as Kyren herself.

"Stand back, but be ready," she ordered, reaching for the latch.

When the door swung open, the three were treated to a wrenching sight: from the state of undress of the two, the slaver had managed to free himself before attempting to rape Zha, who had produced another knife of some sort and stabbed him until the majority of his torso was covered in gaping red wounds. She then had driven the blade into her own heart and lay splayed across the floor directly in front of the entrance to the cabin. As they watched, her wildly rolling eyes met theirs and she gave the slightest smirk before falling utterly still.

An odd surge of pity and guilt twisted in Kyren's chest. The woman had attempted to take Kyren's head the previous night, yet she could not stifle the feelings. But for her, the woman never would have been imprisoned in that cabin with such company. Roghis's large hand rested heavily on her shoulder before she could sink too deeply into her own thoughts.

"She was Ghiscari," Jara said as though it were a comfort. "They do not believe in captivity."

"Were the slavers not Ghiscari?" Kyren asked confusedly.

"The dichotomy of southern society," Daris contributed from his place across the deck. "It has long since been a subject of study."

"What should we do with them?" Roghis asked.

Kyren sighed. "We should leave their bodies to the river, I suppose. Nothing else to be done."

"And the boat?" Jara queried. "Captain Zha has no more need of it. Unless anyone wishes to keep it for their own, I would rather sell it at the next port and be done."

Daris consulted the map he had liberated from the Captain's prior lodging. "Selhorys is the nearest city."

"I am unfamiliar," Kyren admitted. "What do we know of it?"

Roghis crossed his arms over his broad chest. "It is a wild city - a town, in truth - and it is often under attack by the _khalasars_. Lawless as it is, few will take notice of a pole-boat sale. We should be safe to sell, divide the proceeds, and go our separate ways."

"It is settled, then," Kyren decided. "We must remove the bodies and clean the floors before we dock. Daris, how long until we reach Selhorys?"

Daris checked the map, studied the sun's position, eyed the river, and glanced at the map once more. "We should arrive in the late afternoon."

"Very well. Roghis, would you care to assist me?" Kyren asked as she moved toward the body of the slaver.

With effort, the bodies were unceremoniously dumped overboard and Jara volunteered to clean the cabin. Try as she might, however, the floors refused to be scrubbed completely clean and dried blood still winked garnet from the seams between the boards of the deck.

Kyren tried not to look too closely, knowing that the sight of blood in the cabin she had shared with the girl she had been unable to save would be embedded in her mind.

She failed.

* * *

Author's Note \- It's been a while. I know it, you know it. Here's a super long chapter to make up for it. I know there's no Jaime, but rest assured, the next chapter will be exclusively from his POV. In other news, college is killing me. It's been eleven days since I edited this story. That's the longest I've gone without writing since I started this, but I am trying to write more often. My goal is to post another chapter before the premiere of Season 8 in less than two weeks (!) which I know is a lofty goal consider the eleven days thing, but I'm trying. Thank you guys as always for your patience and I would absolutely treasure a review if you have a few seconds. Until next time, thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day!


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

Mini Note \- This chapter covers the beginning of Season Four until roughly halfway through, including the Purple Wedding. Lots of time skips here!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six

"You may find this to be rather uncomfortable at first," Qyburn warned. "In order for the artificial limb to cling to your remaining arm with no place for purchase, it must be tight. Alert me straightaway if you experience any numbness or chill in the end of the stump-"

"He shall survive, Qyburn," Cersei dismissed coldly, continuing in pacing the floor of her chambers. She had glanced at Jaime only once since he entered the room, instead choosing to focus her gaze on the ex-Maester, her ever-emptying goblet of wine, the floor… Anywhere but her twin, perched stiffly on a chair set before the window.

Qyburn made no further comment after the Queen's reprimand, instead approaching Jaime with the golden hand already in position to slide onto his stump. Jaime obliged the silent request, extending his cloth-covered right arm and Qyburn began to push the artificial appendage into place. Jaime tensed as stress was put on the thin skin at the end of his amputated limb. The pressure increased until he grunted, fearing the bone would pierce straight through the scar tissue, but Qyburn stopped just before Jaime would have spoken to order it. Instead, he moved to wrap the attached leather ties around Jaime's forearm, tying them into place with several jerks and tugs to be certain the limb would not shift. As Jaime attempted to suffer through the discomfort without protest, Qyburn murmured praises of the hand, speaking of its well-formed beauty.

Bitterly, Jaime snapped out, "If you like it so much, you are welcome to chop off your own hand and take it."

"Do not be such an ingrate," Cersei chastised. "I spent days with the goldsmith getting the details just right."

Jaime lifted a brow at that. Cersei did not spend _days_ doing anything, especially when the service in question was on behalf of another person, even her twin. "Days," he repeated dryly.

"Better part of an afternoon," she conceded, meeting his gaze for the second time that day. Fleeting as the eye contact was, Jaime still felt a surge of affection for his sister. How was she to be faulted for thinking so little of others when she was perfection itself?

Still, he nodded at the confirmation of his suspicions and refocused his attention on the new hand at the end of his arm. The fingers were molded together, no space between them to allow for him to hook items onto the digits. They were bent in a half-cupped position, not enough to allow him to lift anything onto it - not that he was certain his stump could bear the weight of anything worth lifting.

"A hook would be more practical," he said sourly.

"Elegant, I think," Cersei responded, though whether she was speaking of the new hand or Jaime's idea, he could not be certain.

Before Jaime could loose another scathing comment, Qyburn wrenched the hand another few degrees, forcing a half-stifled grunt from him. The knight glared at the older man, suspicious that he had done it purposefully in order to see Jaime's discomfort. Qyburn took no notice, choosing instead to speak with Cersei.

As he allowed his attention to shift from their conversation, Jaime studied the hand. He had not lied, it _was_ impractical. More importantly, it represented a sort of finality. Something deep in his mind, far from any sense of logic, had been certain that he would return home and find himself suddenly whole - physically and otherwise. Instead, he remained the same broken man and had the additional comfort of his imagined homecoming stripped from him. Tywin wished for him to resign from the Kingsguard, Cersei refused his touch, Joffrey open mocked his new handicap. The golden hand could feed a village for a full season, but Jaime would have gladly traded a hundred of them if it meant he could have his flesh-and-blood appendage returned to him.

Jaime returned to the present in time to hear Qyburn asking about Cersei's condition. _Condition?_ Cersei surely would have told him if something of import had happened while he was away, would she not? Regardless of the fact that she had not spoken to him for the better part of the time since his return to King's Landing…

Before he retired from the chamber, Qyburn turned expectantly toward Jaime, who only gave a stilted wave with the odd new hand. The flash of irritation that crossed Cersei's face at the gesture made him revise his opinion with impish glee; perhaps the golden hand would not be as great an impediment as he had assumed.

Jaime watched Qyburn leave the chamber, as did Cersei. When the non-Maester had left, Jaime commented, "Odd little man."

"I've grown rather fond of him," Cersei refuted. "He's quite talented, you know."

The arch of a golden brow and a glitter in her emerald eyes rose Jaime's hackles. First, she neglected to tell him of a condition of enough import to consult a medicine man, and now she saw fit to imply that he was worth more than Jaime's estimation? It was likely that she was attempting to make him envious, but Jaime could not prevent himself from grinding out, "What symptoms?"

His ire soared as Cersei gave an unconcerned chuckle and poured herself another goblet of wine. "Symptoms that are not your concern."

"You let him touch you?" Jaime asked, striving to keep his tone even.

"Are you jealous?"

"I'm surprised," he avoided. "You never let Paecelle near you."

She laughed again, mirthlessly. "Do you think I would ever let that old letch put his hands on me? He smells like a dead cat."

"I don't think I've ever smelled a dead cat."

"They smell like Paecelle."

Abruptly, Jaime tired of their usual banter. "You drink more than you used to."

"Yes," she replied simply.

"Why?"

Despite his intimate knowledge of his twin's temper - naturally mirroring his own - Jaime was unprepared for the tirade she hurled at him. He was left to blink and toss out responses as she blamed everything from Jaime's street brawl with Ned Stark to the siege on King's Landing, ending with her impending marriage as she gave a sarcastic salute with the sloshing goblet of wine.

Settling beside her on the large bed in the middle of the room, Jaime offered, "Father disowned me today."

"He can't _disown_ you; you're all he's got," Cersei dismissed.

"You're forgetting Tyrion," he reminded.

Cersei gave a noise perilously close to a grunt before shifting into discomfort. "You… don't really plan on staying in the Kingsguard, do you?"

A lick of anger touched his belly at the question, but it disappeared when Cersei turned fully, at last fixing him with a direct look at her face. Her features were perfectly symmetrical, the hue of her wide emerald eyes bewitching at this distance, skin smooth as alabaster, lips lush and reddened with a dab of wine she had yet to lick away… She was enchanting, and Jaime fell under her spell as he always did, his anger coursing from him as wine from a broken skin.

He wrapped his large hand around her smaller one, cradling the goblet she still held, and he murmured his answer. "Staying in the Kingsguard means I live right here, in the Red Keep, with you."

Jaime eased forward, attempting to press a kiss to the sensitive hollow above her ear, but she pulled away. "Not now."

A question was tugged from Jaime's lips at her sudden departure - what it was, he was uncertain - but he turned to glare balefully at his twin. "Not now? When? I've been back for weeks."

Though he watched her raptly, Cersei seemed to have returned to avoiding his gaze and his passion cooled. She had never avoided him before his departure from King's Landing. That was one of their rules: they never said no to each other. Growing up with Tywin Lannister, the word 'no' was tossed around so readily that it had all but lost its meaning. The two had sworn that they would never use the word and never had… until Jaime's return.

Feeling as though he had just been hit in the stomach, Jaime said, "Something's changed."

"Everything's changed!" she burst out. "You come back after all this time with no apologies and one hand and expect everything to be the same!"

"What do you want me to apologize for?" Jaime asked, terribly aware of the throbbing stump of his right hand.

"For leaving me."

"You think I _wanted_ to be taken prisoner?"

"I don't know what you wanted. You weren't here. You left me. Alone."

Stunned, Jaime sat for a long moment. All he had suffered, all he had endured, was to help him return to King's Landing and his twin. And now… It was not enough. How could it not be enough? It was all he had. "Every day I was a prisoner, I plotted my escape. Every day. I _murdered_ people so I could be here with you!"

"You took too long."

"I-" Jaime cut himself off. For the first time, icy fear flashed through him, numbing his extremities and fuzzing his mind. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you took too long," she replied, voice taut.

Before Jaime could begin to formulate another reply - lost for words as he was, it would have required quite a bit of time - a knock sounded on the door. "Go away," he commanded immediately.

"Come in," Cersei ordered only a moment after he had begun to speak and the door eased open.

Of course the servants had obeyed her, she was the queen. It was all she had ever wanted. More than Jaime, more than a family, more than anything, Cersei had always wanted to be the queen.

Jaime left her chambers, silently seething as that thought bounced around the inside of his skull until it felt as though his very bones would shatter from its force. Lest he sink into melancholy, he moved for Tyrion's chambers. His brother always had a unique perspective on every matter.

* * *

"All right, we're done for the day."

Rather than listen to the burr of Bronn's accent as he had been fool enough to do when the man had made the same announcement in their first training - a full hour before it had ended - Jaime kept his grip on the practice blade and fixed Bronn with a gimlet stare.

The sellsword gave a laugh that rang against the sheer rock of the cliff face beside their fighting arena. "So you do learn. That's disappointing."

He pushed forward to attack Jaime once more. Relying on his slower left hand, Jaime batted away Bronn's attacks as best he could, but it was a scant thing. There was simply no opportunity for anything other than defense. Of course, he was able to ward off the man now where two lessons before, he had been thoroughly bruised from the dull edge of the practice blade.

In his most private thoughts, unacknowledged to even himself, Jaime knew his fervent practices with Bronn were an attempt to regain his skills in order to regain Cersei. Even when he had scarcely been able to stand upright after their first day of training, Jaime had insisted on have a lesson every day.

Bronn began to talk. Jaime was only surprised that he had managed to restrain himself as long as he had. It was one of Bronn's most favored techniques, to speak as rudely and bawdily as possible in order to throw off his opponent. A distracted swordsman was a poor swordsman and all of that.

"Your son is a cunt."

Ah, so that was his chosen topic for this instance. Jaime set his jaw in resignation and feigned the same bored tone he took with everyone who confronted him with the truth of his children's parentage. "Apparently, you need a lesson in familial relations. The correct term is 'nephew', not 'son'."

"I suppose, if anyone is qualified to lecture about family relations, it is you," Bronn taunted. Jaime smirked at the hit, but did not allow himself to become distracted. After a well-executed parry on Jaime's part, Bronn added, "Interesting that you wouldn't defend him against being called a cunt, despite what relation you claim."

Jaime gritted his teeth, forcibly reminded of the meeting between the officers of wedding security and King Joffrey. His son - even if he were unclaimed - had named him an aged knight with one hand and no great deeds. It was the first time he had ever actually hated the boy, despite the flaws in character that had developed even before Joff had taken his first steps.

Between dodging the dulled edge of Bronn's practice blade, Jaime managed a shrug. "Truth is truth."

Bronn barked out a laugh. "Not excited by the impending nuptials, then? A bride means there will be little golden-haired kinglets running all over the place."

"Perish the thought," Jaime grunted out, attempting to block the other man's attack though he could feel that his strength was fading.

With a flick of Bronn's wrist, Jaime was disarmed and at the mercy of the sellsword. "I believe that is enough for one day."

Still attempting to catch his breath, Jaime nodded. All that time in Robb Stark's camp had left his body wasted and his strength far removed from where it had been previously. "Will we meet again tomorrow?"

Bronn surveyed him casually, dark gaze flicking from Jaime's trembling limbs to his sweat-soaked hair. "You aren't doing yourself any favors by pushing this hard."

Jaime smirked to hide his frustrations. "Perhaps you worry that I will best you sooner than you planned and you will have to forfeit your regular installments of gold."

Playing along, Bronn shook his head and grinned. "I haven't been bested since you started making little girls swoon, pretty boy."

"Is that so? How did you get that nasty scar, then?" Jaime asked, gesturing toward an angry red line running the length of Bronn's exposed bicep. "It looks more fresh than my wooing abilities."

Bronn snorted. "I have your brother to thank for that one."

Jaime laughed in disbelief. "You expect me to believe that Tyrion stabbed you? Not likely."

"You're right about that. It was from some girl he had me fetch."

"Tyrion?" Jaime asked, incredulous. That was one of Tyrion's most important stances; he would never force an unwilling female to be with him. Not in any sense. "That does not sound like him."

"Are you always so involved in who your brother is fucking?"

"Only when I believe I'm being lied to by a sellsword," Jaime returned.

Bronn heaved a sigh. "Look, I've been sworn to secrecy and that's all I can say about it."

"You might be sworn to secrecy, but I can hazard a guess or two," Jaime said thoughtfully. "It was in fact a female, one my brother wished to meet with. She must be a fierce thing, if she was brave enough to stab a sellsword. And she must be important if he did not allow you to take revenge for the wound." He turned these facts over in his mind and could come to only one conclusion: "Kyren Asheworth."

With a dry chuckle, Bronn shook his head. "Gonna have to end this conversation, Kingslayer. I need to go beat the piss out of everyone who told me that your brains are lacking."

"So, I am correct? Kyren was here?" Bronn did not answer, but it was of no consequence. "Judging from that wound, perhaps she is not in King's Landing still, but she was. She had to have found some place to stay while here. Answer me one thing, Bronn: where did you find her?"

Bronn shot a glare at him from where he was packing up the practice blades. "You ever heard of a place called Dyser's? In Flea Bottom? Nice place, hard to find."

Jaime watched him for a long moment and realized that this was all Bronn intended to say. He turned to leave their practice area, adding over his shoulder, "Do not bother coming for tomorrow's lesson, Bronn. I believe it's time we took a day to rest."

* * *

Early the next morning - for even a Lannister thought it unwise to risk being caught in Flea Bottom after dark, especially missing his sword hand - Jaime left the Red Keep in favor of wandering the streets. Occasionally, he would glance around the shabby streets and mutter to himself, "Dyser's…"

Eventually, he asked one of the men minding a stall at a small market where he could find the place, carefully keeping the space which should have been occupied by his right hand out of view. Following the dodgy directions, he arrived at a tavern. Being before noon, it was largely deserted, but the door bore a series of scuff marks and dings, as did the walls and the small sign affixed to the stone exterior. It was most definitely a well-attended tavern.

With a press on the pockmarked door, Jaime entered the tavern. It was, as he had expected, empty. Long, rough-hewn benches were tucked neatly beneath battle scarred wooden tables. Every surface within sight was thoroughly used and scratched but relentlessly clean. The cause of the neatness seemed to be apparent: a woman was scrubbing at a dark stain on the rear wall of the room.

Jaime approached slowly, silently until he could see that the stain appeared to be blood and could hear that the woman was hissing vile curses under her breath. One corner of his wide mouth quirked upward. It appeared that more than the furniture in this place was rough. Entertaining as he found the woman to be, Jaime still would prefer to ask his questions and return to the Red Keep as soon as was practical.

"I hope I am not interrupting your efforts," he said softly.

The woman straightened abruptly, turning with the blood-streaked cloth pressed to her chest. When she saw Jaime, standing back with his least threatening smile, she grew pale and her hazel eyes widened. She attempted a curtsey, but it resulted in such a stagger than Jaime reached to steady her.

"Are- You are Jaime Lannister, are you not? Ser Jaime Lannister?" she croaked out.

"Yes, I am," Jaime admitted freely, adding with his most dashing smile, "Pray do not hold it against me."

"Shana Dyser. But why have you come here?" the woman asked. Jaime was slightly put out to see that she was not knocked off-balance with his flirtation. Rather, her nerves seemed to settle and she faced him with steadily calming determination and a hint of wariness.

"I have come in search of…" Jaime paused for a brief moment, wondering about the wisdom of widely announcing his intentions. Instead, his mind flicked back to the instance in which Kyren had returned to the Red Keep with a rough-spun bowl in her hands, a bowl containing... "Rum cakes."

To his shock, Shana Dyser tossed her head back, curls flying in all directions as she laughed until tears leaked from her eyes. She calmed eventually, wiping her face before saying, "I had doubted her. She seemed off balance at times, but she promised that you would come looking for her. And here you are, the great Ser Jaime himself, searching for Mellina's rum cakes!"

"Mellina?" Jaime repeated, attempting to appear as though he knew exactly what Shana meant. Perhaps it was a false name Kyren had adopted as her own for her stay in Flea Bottom.

"Of course. Mellina made the most delicious rum cakes in Westeros, as I am certain you well remember."

"The most delicious," Jaime agreed before something else occurred to him. "However, she 'made'? Never tell me that Mellina has ceased to bake?"

The impish grin fell from Shana's face as she stared up at him. "But, Ser, did you not know? Mellina is dead."

The twisting in Jaime's gut abruptly disappeared, as did all sensation of his body. For a moment, the room swayed, but he managed to whisper, "Dead? But how?"

"She passed in her sleep some time ago."

Not quite how he had envision Kyren's removal from life. Jaime settled himself somewhat, supplying carefully, "That must have come as quite the shock."

"Ser, she was very old," Shana explained, eyeing him as though he had gone utterly mad. Jaime certainly felt as though he had, his joy bubbling up nearly as strongly as his despair had only moments before. Stronger, even, as Shana added, "Surely Kyren must have told you as much when she delivered the rum cakes?"

Adopting a mournful expression, Jaime nodded. "I believe she may have said something to that effect now that you say it. I had not believed the situation to be as… advanced - as it apparently was. My deepest apologies to Mellina, Seven rest her soul."

His head was brought up from its prayerful slump when Shana snorted a laugh. "Mellina was not so devout as that. Besides, her fondest wish will have been granted with your visit. Mellina always said that you would love her rum cakes enough to search her out, and now her prediction has come true. Rest assured, Ser, Mellina is laughing her triumph wherever she currently resides."

He grinned at her before leaning casually back against the table behind him. "You know, it is the oddest thing. I have not heard from Kyren in rather a long while…"

Shana gave him a suspicious look and he hastily brought up his new hand, tapping it stiffly against the table and producing a hollow clacking noise. "But then, I have been away from King's Landing for quite some time."

As he had hoped, Shana's face softened and she sighed, turning away from the faded spot on the wall. "Kyren is gone from the city and has been for quite some time, but I did know her well when she was still here."

And thus began a pleasant afternoon passed in the good humor of shared memories. Shanna had indeed known Kyren well and told stories that made Jaime both laugh and miss the odd girl terribly. It was only later that night that Jamie realized Shana had neatly avoided revealing why Kyren had been in King's Landing at all.

* * *

"You Lannisters are a cold bunch of bastards."

Jaime glared at Bronn, asking sourly, "Am I meant to simply understand your meaning?"

Bronn did not seem particularly inclined to be delicate about any matter, and this one was no exception. "Your son is dead, the kingdom is in chaos, your brother is locked away, and your sister has not left the crypt since they put the king to rest there. Yet here you are; training with me."

"And which of these things do you intend for me to fix?" Jaime asked with falsely endless patience.

"Well, your sister has always been your top choice," Bronn mused, deliberately misunderstanding the rhetorical nature of Jaime's question.

"She does not wish to see me," Jaime said shortly.

Bronn waited for explanation, but Jaime felt exactly no urge to tell Bronn how he had not allowed his sister to refuse him once again. Cersei may never speak to him again and he would deserve every moment of the silence, but Bronn did not need to know the details. When Jaime did not answer, Bronn said, "I was under the impression that you and little Lord Tyrion were close. Why not see him?"

Glancing away from the other man's searching gaze, Jaime said, "I doubt Tyrion wishes to see me."

"Do you know who he chose to be his champion when he was on trial in the Eyrie?" Bronn asked.

Jaime frowned at the sudden change in subject. "Yes, you. I am well aware of the story."

"Nah, I just offered when Lysa Arryn insisted the trial take place that day. You were his first choice because he knew you would ride day and night to be there for you. And now you won't even go see him."

"I cannot protect him," Jaime snapped. "He is my family, but so is Cersei and my father… Neither of them has ever liked Tyrion. I know they are going to find him guilty. And there is not a thing I can do to stop them."

"Of course there is not, but the least you could do is visit him. He's wasting away in that godsforsaken cell." Jaime did not answer and Bronn sighed. "Very well. But you do have a living son here who needs advice."

"Nephew," Jaime corrected automatically. "What am I meant to tell him about ruling a kingdom? Not exactly my realm of expertise."

"No, but he needs some sort of advice. He has no idea how to be the king, nor the confidence to forge his own way. Not much of Robert Baratheon in him. The boy is a Lannister through and through."

"Children sometimes take after one parent more than the other."

Bronn let out a barking laugh. "Do not try to sell me black sand for gunpowder! That boy is the spitting image of you and his mother. In any case, he don't have much Baratheon in his temper, either."

"Be that as it may, he shall still have to seek advice elsewhere," Jaime responded stiffly.

"Aye, and he shall. Mark my words, he's going to turn to everyone in the Seven bloody Kingdoms before he gets the right set of directions, and it's his poor luck to take after you so strongly. He'll follow the grand Lannister tradition and let your father tell him how to act."

"Mind yourself, sellsword," Jaime growled in warning, but Bronn continued on undaunted.

"The only reason the old lion never got his claws in Joffrey is that the boy was mad as a spotted whore."

"A spotted whore," Jaime repeated tightly, anger bubbling through his body.

"Yeah, happens to all of 'em in the end. They get spots and then they go completely mad. The only thing Joffrey was missing were the spots."

Jaime's temper at last boiled over. "You are talking about my son, you miserable fool!" He stopped himself, realizing he had admitted the truth of his children's parentage aloud, to someone other than Cersei, for the first time.

Rather than gloat, Bronn slapped him on the back and gave a consoling grimace. "Want to go make nice with your siblings or come get drunk with me?"

After a moment's pause, Jaime said, "Give me two hours to see Tyrion and I will go with you."

Bronn nodded. "I'll meet you at Dyser's. I suppose you've found it by now?"

"Yes, and as Shana spoke rather freely about you, I would guess that you knew it already."

With a smirk, Bronn gathered their dull-edged practice blades and moved toward the stone steps winding up the cliff face. "Go talk to your brother and take your time. I intend to be drunk when you get to Dyser's, but I'll buy you a drink to help you catch up."

* * *

Author's Note \- Remember when I promised to publish this before the final season premiere? Ha, ha, yeah. Sorry about that! I really tried, but it just didn't happen. In any case, I thank you all for your patience!

Special shoutout to my guest reviewer and the awesomely-named lokidoki9 for their kind words! Lokidoki especially, you truly made me smile!

Thank you all for reading! I have decided against promising timelines on any future updates, but rest assured that they will be coming. Have a wonderful day and I hope to see you soon! Wishing you all luck as the Battle of Winterfell approaches.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related title, character, plot, setting, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kyren led Sotam through the streets of King's Landing, staring around with distaste. It was a disappointment to be back in the city, but she was determined to continue the search for Arya. As she had little success in Essos, Kyren had decided on a different approach altogether: she intended to undertake a thorough search of the boneyards outside of King's Landing, searching for a skeleton matching Arya's height and build. If she did not find one, she would continue her search north once more. If she never returned to the capital city, she would be thrilled.

Leaving Essos had proven to be challenging. She had traveled south to Volantis before being waylaid by a raging infection from the cut on her neck. The healers of Volantis were of the opinion that the cut had been contaminated by the waters of the Rhoyne. The infection had ravaged her body for nearly a fortnight and the healers had wondered on more than one occasion if she would survive. When they had finally given her clearance to leave, Kyren had formulated a plan.

With no time to wait for the _Yangilash_ , Kyren had opted to cut her hair short - using diluted ink to tint it to a dull grey-brown - and bind her chest in order to look like a boy. With her hair scarcely reaching her chin, enough dangled in her face to obscure her eyes from the casual observer. Her lanky limbs, casual menace, and the exposed scar on her neck kept Kyren from being accosted on her voyage back to Westeros. She had worked to provide passage for herself and Sotam and left none the wiser to her true gender.

As eager as she was to begin the search for Arya, Kyren knew she needed a place to stay and keep Sotam safe. Much as she loved the stallion, he was highly recognizable and the risks of keeping him with her was too great. It would appear that she must call on her old friends once more.

Picking through the winding streets was done quickly, performed with the skill of much practice, and Kyren arrived at Dyser's with little attention. Sotam was placed in his typical spot in the stables of Shana's neighbor and Kyren entered the tavern with the intent of alerting the Dysers to her presence. If she moved quickly, she could begin her search of the boneyards today, despite her weariness from the long voyage.

The cool, deserted interior of the tavern was like a balm to Kyren's soul and she took a deep breath to soak it in.

"My apologies, lad. I fear we have not opened for the day. You can return later, though you do seem a bit young for the taverns…"

Kyren waited patiently for Tarik to turn towards her fully before pushing the hair back from her face. The resulting expression made her laugh for the first time since leaving Braavos and he crossed the room quickly to reach her. Without pausing for even a moment, he wrapped her in an embrace so tight she was left gasping for air.

"I never believed I would see you again," Tarik murmured more into her hair than her ear, but Kyren did not mind. Instead, she simply hummed in response and allowed her arms to curl around his back.

When he at last pulled back from her, both sets of hands trailed over shoulders and through hair, breaking apart slowly as candied fruit in the sun. Tarik crossed his arms over his chest and Kyren blushed to see that he subtly continued to rub his fingers together as though he could still feel her hair between them. "Where have you been?"

Kyren shrugged. For Arya's sake, she could not go into great detail, but she felt that Tarik deserved some sort of explanation. "I traveled to Essos and had a bit of trouble before I left. Unfortunately, there was no hint of what I needed to find."

"A bit of trouble?" Tarik asked, staring at her skeptically. Feeling oddly fidgety under his gaze, Kyren tucked a strand of her artificially darkened hair behind an ear and attempted to look anywhere else in the room. He moved forward once more, lifting the locks away from her neck to stare at her new scar.

Just as Kyren was ready to jerk away from his scrutiny, Tarik's hands traveled upward. One hand snaked into her hair as the other caressed her jaw and he was suddenly, passionately, kissing her. She stiffened for a moment before sinking into him, meeting his every movement with one of her own. Their lips slowed and Tarik pulled back, seeming suddenly sheepish.

"I may not be a maester, but I know that scar was serious. If that was 'a bit of trouble', I shudder to think of all else that has happened. You may not have considered your adventures dangerous, but you could easily have died and I never would have known your fate."

Tarik's normally-bold blue eyes avoided Kyren's, but she hardly noticed. Instead, the same realization hit her abruptly, and her mind's eye replayed the sight of Eyva's throat opening beneath her chin… but now, it was Kyren's throat and she was dead in a river far from her homeland and everyone she loved.

When she returned to herself, Kyren found Tarik watching her with concern on his face. He opened his mouth - likely to ask if she was well - but Kyren grasped his tunic and met his mouth with hers. The spark of passion that had been present in their previous kiss was replicated and expanded until it was a roaring fire, engulfing them both in unimaginable heat.

Though it nearly killed her, Kyren placed a hand on Tarik's chest and pushed him away - but only far enough to pull their lips apart, no more. Tarik stared down at her with eyes still burning from their embrace and Kyren gathered all her wits to say, "If we continue, you must know that there will never be anything further between us. I will not marry you, nor will I promise to stay. We are not courting or promised. I must have your understanding in this matter."

A bit of the excitement fled from Tarik's face, but he nodded nonetheless. "If I can have you for only a short while, I want as much of you as you will allow."

Kyren smiled, for once deciding to allow the future to be its own concern, and pulled him toward her once more.

* * *

Straightening slowly, Kyren allowed the muscles of her back to ease into the stretch. She was sore from long hours squatting and bending to study skeletons of those who had been left to the elements. She had been searching the boneyards for most sunlit hours since her arrival at King's Landing and the horrors never ceased. Fighting a shiver at the feel of sweat trickling down her spine and through her hair, Kyren closed her eyes against the sun and allowed her mind to drift to more pleasant things.

Her life had become a mostly-pleasant blur of days. Nearly every day was spent picking through the boneyards. She had mapped the land and divided it into sections so it could be more thoroughly searched - though admittedly, she was relying on the idea that the Lannister forces would not have bothered to bury Arya.

In the evenings, Kyren retreated to Dyser's, often sharing a meal with Tarik in the kitchens. She never ate as heartily as she had before and she could see it worried him, but days spent in the blazing sun left her unable to stomach more than fruit, water, and bread. They then entered the tavern's main room. It was common for Kyren to take a seat tucked in a dark corner, enjoying the boisterous crowds and removing a rowdy patron or two for sake of sentimentality.

Her nights were largely spent in Tarik's bed. They never exchanged more than a few sentences before falling asleep. Tarik knew better than to make overtures to her as Kyren needed the catharsis of sleep before she could purge herself of the things she saw each day. However, it was not uncommon for the two to wake each other in the dark hours of the morning for more pleasant activities.

A shadow falling across her face prompted Kyren to open her eyes once more. Thick, menacing clouds were rolling between the sun and the hard-baked dirt. With a practiced eye, Kyren estimated that rains would come soon, and were likely to last until after the sun had set. Resigning herself to a half-day lost, she examined a final skeleton, that of yet another child. It was not Arya's. Far too young. Seized with a surge of grief for the unknown youth, Kyren marked off the cleared section of land on her map and started back toward Dyser's.

She was still several minutes walk from the tavern when the skies opened, pouring fat drops of rain over every inch of King's Landing. Kyren gave a joyous laugh at the idea that she could skip her daily bath to wash the dirt of the boneyards from her skin, though she would likely still use the routine pitcher of water to rinse the sweat from her hair.

Dyser's was empty when she strolled inside, as was typical for the tavern before nightfall, but it was not quite silent. Kyren crossed the room toward the kitchen, smiling as she heard Tarik's familiar voice, but stopped short when she heard the heaviness in Bellin's tone. Instead of pushing through the kitchen door as she typically would, Kyren remained just outside, standing in a puddle growing with every drip from her clothing and hair.

"The little lord fares poorly, I'm afraid. He's starved for company, but few visit… Not that his sister would allow him the pleasure of company."

"Does no one speak in his defense?" Tarik asked.

"It seems not. His brother attempted to bargain with Lord Tywin and arranged for the Imp to be sent to the Night's Watch, but he spoke out in court. He demanded a trial by combat."

"Truly? When did this happen?"

"Several days ago. The combat is to happen in two days time."

Tarik swore. "And who represents Tyrion?"

"None know. His brother is missing his sword hand and the chambermaids tell me that the queen has offered Ser Bronn of the Blackwater a handsome prize to dissuade him from offering his services."

A pause came then, and Kyren leaned closer to the door. "This happened days ago? Why did you not tell me sooner?"

Bellin sounded offended then. "It is no one's fault but your own! You insist that no news of the trial is to be discussed when Kyren is here and you spend your waking hours either working or in her company. When should I have told you?"

"It is a fair point," Tarik conceded, voice grudging. "And the rule still stands. Not a word of this around Kyren. She is not to know a thing."

Feeling rather sick, Kyren retreated up to the attic in order to parse through what she had heard, carefully wiping the puddle from the floor before she went. She remained in the attic even after she heard the typical patrons make their rowdy entrance into the tavern, toying with the idea of leaving for the Red Keep without alerting any to her plans. However, she decided that it would be a foolish idea. Perhaps Tarik had his reasons, ones she had not considered.

Instead, she donned the ill-fitting handmaid's dress and a hooded cape before going to Tarik's room. It was empty, Tarik likely still downstairs in the tavern, but she sat to wait. It would not do to arrive at the Red Keep when many were still walking the halls.

Just after midnight, Tarik pushed his way into the room, serious face breaking into a smile as he saw her. "Kyren!" he greeted happily. "I was beginning to worry…"

His voice trailed into silence as his gaze drifted down her form, expression turning solemn once more as his recognition grew. "You cannot do this. Tell me you do not intend to go to the Red Keep."

"Tell me why you chose to keep information from me," Kyren returned evenly.

Tarik sighed, closing the door behind him before sitting beside her on the bed. "Tyrion is a Lannister and you have aligned yourself with the Starks. Why would you care what happens to him?"

"Tell me the truth," Kyren demanded. "You must have known I would have an interest or you would not have ordered everyone to remain silent in my presence."

"Kyren, you are weary from searching the boneyards, staring death in the face each day. I did not wish you to be troubled by the troubles of a royal dwarf you hardly know," he offered, his patronizing tone making Kyren's teeth grit.

"If you are willing to keep information from me, information which may have an impact on my reason for remaining here, how can I trust you with anything?"

"Very well!" Tarik snapped, voice sharp. "I did not wish for you to know about the trial because I knew you would attempt to rush off and save Tyrion Lannister. You have a weakness for heroism and it will end with you dead and the Seven Kingdoms worse off than they were before." Kyren sat, stunned and hurt by the accusation, as well as the lack of faith he had in her. Tarik took her hand in his, voice softening. "Kyren, stay with me. Stay here, stay safe. You do not need to save a Lannister. You do not need to save everyone."

Kyren stood, pulling her hand from his grip. It shook with anger, same as the rest of her. "If you believe that I am capable of standing by while an innocent man is put to death, you do not know me in the slightest."

"An innocent man?" Tarik repeated with a cruel laugh that Kyren did not recognize. "The Seven Kingdoms cannot decide whether he is innocent or guilty, but you know for certain. On what basis was your decision made? That you've had a conversation with him? Do you even know what he stands accused of doing?"

"As it happens, I do not," Kyren admitted, all humility in the statement stolen by the haughty lift of her chin.

"Killing King Joffrey. The king died at his own wedding after drinking poisoned wine. The Imp had more cause than most to hate the king. Still so certain of his innocence?"

Kyren stared at him for a long moment before throwing her head back in laughter. "Joffrey? From all I heard of his rule, the killer should be rewarded, not put to trial!"

Tarik's face contorted into an expression of savage victory. "Ah, so we have finally discovered a Lannister you do not love."

Kyren's joy disappeared with the thought of Cersei's cold green eyes. "There are several Lannisters I do not love."

"So you mean to say you have not fallen under the spell of Ser Jaime, the _golden_ lion, in the same way every other female in the kingdom has?"

"Mind yourself, Tarik. You begin to sound jealous."

"And you begin to sound defensive."

Kyren fought back a blush. Tarik did not deserve to know of her past with Jaime Lannister, even if the knight had only been attempting to use her for his own gain. Instead, she simply said, "If you will excuse me, I have places to be."

"Wait, Kyren," Tarik begged, desperation suddenly appearing in his voice. "This argument is inane, but you must admit my point is valid. Please do not place yourself in danger for someone who would not do the same for you. I do not wish to see you hurt. I care for you."

"You do not care for me," Kyren responded. Hurt filled Tarik's blue eyes and she expanded, "You care for who you believe I could become under the correct circumstances."

Tarik began to make his denials, but Kyren felt the truth of her statement ringing through her being and could see it resounding in him as well. "Farewell, Tarik."

* * *

"Here you go," Bronn said nonchalantly, stopping by an unremarkable door in the dungeons. It had been pure luck that she stumbled across him before she could get caught by anyone else. Bronn - for all his claims of simplicity - instantly surmised the reason for her presence and offered to bring her to Tyrion and escort her out of the Red Keep when she was done. To her own shock as much as his, Kyren had accepted without hesitation.

Tugging the hood of her cape more fully over her face, Kyren slipped into the dungeon. It took only a moment to search out Tyrion. He was huddled into a figure even smaller than usual, sitting square in the middle of the chamber's meager light. Kyren's heart twisted. It was obvious that captivity did not agree with the boisterous man.

In the time it took for her to study him, Tyrion had become aware of her gaze. His head swiveled to the door, face shuttered yet still conveying a sense of desperation. When he saw only the strange hooded figure, his eyes traveled down her form, focusing on her skirts.

"Have they sent a whore to me, then? Dangerous occupation, that. My father will likely believe you to be tainted by lying with a dwarf…" She made no response and his tone took on an edge. "Well? Come to me. There is little to be gained by standing in the shadows."

Kyren stepped toward him, lowering the cape's hood as she did. Tyrion stared at her for a moment before recognition took over his expression. "Kyren Asheworth. I had not expected to see you, especially with such an… _off-putting_ hairstyle. Am I to assume that you are not here to service me?"

Smiling despite herself at his dry question, Kyren shook her head. "I should think not, my lord."

Tyrion smiled back for a moment before the happiness flitted from his face. "But why are you here? This is a dangerous place at the moment, and my company is more dangerous than most. Even if she no longer needs a captive to intimidate the Starks, Cersei would delight in tormenting you if you are caught in my company."

"I cannot stay long, I agree..." Kyren cocked her head to the side. "Why does the queen not need to intimidate the Starks?"

The lines in his forehead deepening, Tyrion frowned up at her. "Have you been away from King's Landing for some time?"

"Yes, I have," Kyren answered impatiently. "Has something happened?"

"Yes, but I would have you told by someone who can comfort you. Someone not covered in his own filth."

"Just tell me," Kyren asked. "Please."

"Very well," Tyrion said with a sigh, voice gentling until Kyren could hardly hear it over the thundering of her own pulse. "Robb Stark - along with many of his most trusted bannermen - was killed a short time ago."

Kyren's throat closed. Visions of Robb danced behind her eyes, auburn hair dyed scarlet with his own blood. "Robb?"

"Robb, his wife, and-" Tyrion shook his head.

"And?"

"And their unborn child," he said softly. "Catelyn Stark was also in attendance."

Kyren gripped her elbows so hard that her knuckles paled, pacing around the small room until she could breathe once more. "So the Stark armies are gone."

"The Northern rebellion is gone," Tyrion corrected. "As are the Starks."

Whipping to face him, Kyren asked, "The Starks are gone?"

Tyrion nodded. "Ned Stark, as you know, was beheaded by my sweet nephew. Catelyn and Robb Stark were killed at the Twins by the Frey forces. Arya Stark has not been seen or heard from since the death of her father and is presumed dead. Bran and Rickon Stark were reported dead when Theon Greyjoy took Winterfell."

"And Sansa?" Kyren asked tightly. "Sansa, who you _promised_ to protect?"

"I did protect her," Tyrion insisted, seeming more tired than before. "As well as I could. However, my father, my sister, and my dearly-departed nephew strong-armed her into marriage."

"Marriage? Sansa is married? To whom?"

"Me," he said heavily.

"You? But- you have not-"

"No, I have not. I told her that I would not touch her until she was ready." He shrugged. "She was never ready."

"If you are locked in here, where is she?"

"That is the question plaguing the royal court," Tyrion said with a ruthless laugh. "She disappeared in the chaos following Joffrey's death and no one can divine where she went."

"And now you are to be tried for your nephew's death," Kyren summarized.

"Yes."

"Did you kill him?"

"No, did you?"

Kyren smirked. "I should think not, as I've only just returned from Essos."

"Essos? Why were you- We are straying from the subject. I have been tried for Joffrey's death, and I managed to talk my way into a trial by combat in which I have no one to represent me. Clearly, my cleverness is beyond reason."

"Your trial is why I am here. I wish to volunteer my services to fight on your behalf."

Tyrion stared at her for a long moment. "Are you the only person in all of Westeros who has not heard of my sister's choice of representation?"

"The Mountain, yes?" Kyren asked with a nonchalance she did not feel. The Mountain was known for his cruelty, strength, and prowess in battle. She had heard conversations throughout the Red Keep about Cersei's champion and was dismayed, but it did little to erase her reasons.

"Yes. So unless you spent your time in Essos learning to battle giants, I do not believe it wise for you to represent me."

"I never learned to battle giants, but I did hone my fighting abilities," Kyren offered.

Tyrion shook his head. "It would be suicide. I cannot allow you to do such a thing."

"If you are innocent, the gods will help me to win against the Mountain." Tyrion appeared unconvinced, and Kyren unclenched her hands as she approached Tyrion directly, allowing him to see the sincerity on her face. "More importantly, I cannot allow you to die for a crime you did not commit. Even I never saw you again, I would not have believed you capable of killing Joffrey. He was terrible, but he was your nephew."

"I thank you for the offer, but I must decline," Tyrion said with a smile.

"I do not understand," Kyren said, frustratedly. "If you have no representation, you will face the Mountain yourself in a fight to the dead. Even if I am not successful as your champion, you will be hanged, or beheaded, or shot with a crossbow - I am uncertain what methods of execution are used in King's Landing. I did miss the last one, you know." Tyrion smiled again and Kyren felt lighter seeing the expression on his scarred face. "But you would be awarded a dignified death. I am certain the Mountain would offer you no such thing."

Tyrion sighed. "I truly appreciate your offer, Kyren, but I will not accept. If it helps, I will decline for a selfish reason: my sister may not need you to intimidate the Starks, but she holds a grudge. I am certain that she would delight in making you suffer. If you appeared on my behalf, she would likely arrest you immediately, leaving me without a champion regardless."

Kyren shook her head, knowing that she had been bested by Tyrion Lannister's wit. A sound came from outside the chamber and they both turned to look, glancing at each other when no further noise was heard. Though no words passed between them, both knew that it was time for her to leave.

Sinking slightly, Kyren reached out to draw Tyrion into a tight embrace, one he readily accepted and returned. Her chin resting on his crooked shoulder, Kyren whispered, "Take care, Tyrion. I pray you find the champion you need."

A low, dry chuckle came from him as his arms tightened and released. "I hope for the same. Now, get out before someone finds you."

With a final wavering smile, Kyren tapped on the door and slipped out when Bronn opened it.

"Ready to go?" he asked, for all the world like they were not both risking their lives.

"I must see Tyrion Lannister. It is urgent."

Bronn turned sharply to look at the owner of the unfamiliar voice, but Kyren remained where she was, huddled in the shadows of her cloak and praying that he would not see her face. She did not know the man, but there was little cause to risk being sighted in the Red Keep, even by a stranger.

"Oberyn Martell, yeah?" Bronn asked.

"Yes. It is urgent," the man insisted, prompting Bronn.

The sellsword glanced over at Kyren briefly before putting on a falsely jovial tone. "Go on ahead, love. I'll follow in a bit."

Kyren nodded, only glancing up to catch Bronn's gaze for a moment before retreating down the hallway in the direction they had come.

* * *

He was tired. It had been a long night of guarding Tommen's door, especially as his son had no subtlety where his beautiful betrothed was concerned. Thankfully, they appeared to restrain themselves to speaking rather than more physical behaviors, but Jaime was still uncomfortable at the reminder that Tommen would soon be wed and attempting to put heirs into his wife.

Jaime should have been pleased overall. He seemed to be approaching a reconciliation with Cersei and liked to think it was due to his ever-growing prowess with left-handed sword fighting, but could not dispel the lingering suspicion that it had more to do with Tyrion's impending battle and likely execution. Jaime's affection for their younger brother had often left the twins at odds during their shared childhood and he did not expect that anything had changed. He did not wish to see his younger brother die, but Cersei would not care in the slightest. She had never grown to appreciate his wit, his sharp tongue, his exceeding cleverness. Instead, she insisted upon hating him for taking their mother away, an accident of fate Jaime had long since forgiven.

He turned a corner, finding himself in sudden company as a girl in a cape and a serving dress hurried along ahead of him. He paused for only a moment to wonder why a serving girl was wandering the halls of the Red Keep at such a late hour before remembering Cersei's most common complaint of late: with the approach of winter, many vineyards were suffering and wine was becoming more difficult to come by. Cersei had mentioned more than once over the past few days how she struggled to keep a full decanter.

"You, maid!" he called.

The girl stiffened visibly but made no move to turn or approach him. Jaime, temper piqued, snapped, "Come, maid. I have a task which requires your attention."

Slowly, infuriatingly so, the female made her way down the hall and toward him. She stood further away than was normal, but Jaime felt no particular urge to explain to a serving girl how her job was to be performed.

"The queen requires wine to be brought to her private chambers. Ensure you bring enough to fill her decanter as well as extra to keep in the room. Find a guard or a serving boy to help if you wish. I care little how it is done, but the queen is to have more wine in her chambers tonight. Am I understood?"

The girl nodded, face still obscured by the darkness of her cloak's hood and the strands of dark hair straggling out from beneath it.

"Why do you wear a cloak indoors?" Jaime asked sharply.

The girl's voice, when it came, was high-pitched and faltering. "I have- I have just come from the stables, Ser."

The trembling in the hands she clasped so tightly before her was enough to convince Jaime of her frightened sincerity. She was likely new to the Red Keep, new to being approached by knights - especially one of his importance.

"Very well. Do not forget what I have asked of you," he ordered, smiling in an effort to turn her fear into awe and admiration, the same as it did for many of the women he encountered.

She nodded once more, bowing slightly and retreated, footsteps light against the stone. "Girl!" he called after her, an edge having returned to his tone. She paused, obediently looking back to him. "The wine cellar _and_ the queen's chambers are in the opposite direction."

The girl bowed once more before hurrying toward and past him. Jaime watched her progress through narrowed eyes. There was something familiar in the way she moved and the cadence of her voice, but he could not place it. When the girl had disappeared and the feeling had yet to do so, he covered his apprehension by sighing aloud, "These servants grow more useless by the day."

* * *

Author's Note \- Hello again! It's been a while! Honestly, this chapter was supposed to have a lot more Jaime in it, but I got upset with him after a certain a decision of his a few episodes back. No spoilers just in case anyone isn't caught up yet! I will go ahead and say that I will be diverging _heavily_ from canon during the events of season eight, so be warned now.

Special thanks to lokidoki9, tvdspnlover, and HellToTheNo123 for their reviews! Additional thanks to all of those who have added this story to their follows and faves!

Well, I wanted to publish one last chapter before the premiere of the series finale. In case any of you stop reading after things wrap up, I just want to thank you for reading this story. It's meant a lot. Good luck this weekend and may your favorite surviving character make it out!


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of_ Thrones or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kyren had believed that she would be forced from Dyser's after her argument with Tarik, but Shana had remained awake far after midnight in order to speak with her directly. The older woman, never one to miss a trick, had known of her son's relationship with Kyren. Though she was disappointed by its end - and forthrightly hopeful for a reconciliation - Shana insisted that Kyren remain above the tavern as she continued and concluded her search of the boneyards.

"If you are truly in as much danger as you and I both believe you to be," Shana had said, "attempting to find new lodging would be a risk you cannot afford. Seeing Tarik may be uncomfortable, but far from dangerous."

Eventually, she had convinced Kyren to stay, and the following weeks had led to several developments: she and Tarik had an uneasy truce, Bellin had included Kyren in her dispersal of information from the serving girls of the Red Keep, and Lord Tyrion had been found guilty in his trial by combat but escaped the Red Keep, killing his father on the way. Kyren had not wanted to believe Tyrion capable of such a thing, but the Tyrion she had spoken to in the dungeons was far from the laughing, light-hearted and inappropriate man she had met so long ago in Winterfell.

At long last, Kyren completed the last section of the boneyards and was filled with cautious hope as she had never found a match for Arya. There was a slight chance that the young Stark still survived, despite the dismissal of the possibility by Tyrion and countless others.

She returned to Dyser's that night with the expectation of sorting out her next move. Surely Shana would not protest to an added day or two while she planned…

"Hello, Kyren," Tarik greeted as they passed one another on the stairs. They had been pleasant enough to each other since their argument, but Kyren had declined his invitation to continue their physical relationship. It felt too much like he was becoming involved and she was still wary of him besides. "How fare the boneyards?"

Kyren smiled broadly. "Utterly empty of the person I was searching them to find."

Tarik blinked while he thought that over. "Does that mean you've finished at last?"

"I have! I expect to be continuing my search elsewhere in a day or two's time."

"That's wonderful!" he said, and she could see the happiness for her in his eyes. "Will you come to my room after the tavern closes? Not for anything like that," he added, correctly interpreting the look on her face.

Hesitantly, she nodded. "Very well. I shall see you tonight."

When Kyren tapped at his door that evening, she could already feel her face settling into a mask of deep-rooted suspicion but Tarik appeared to have been telling the truth. After an uncomfortable handful of polite questions and conversational topics, he took a deep breath and met Kyren's eyes for the first time.

"Kyren, it should come as no surprise that I owe you an apology. I was foolish and underestimated you." She did not answer and he sighed. "You have been honest from the beginning about what you wanted. I wanted something different and reacted poorly when you did not wish for the same, but that is my burden to bear. Can you forgive me?"

"I do," Kyren agreed, surprised to find that it was the truth. "I do not believe that we should rekindle our relationship, but consider yourself forgiven."

"Thank you, Kyren," he said fervently before giving a slight grin. "And I agree. We are magnificent friends, but anything further is a mistake for us."

"Would that it were anything but," Kyren commiserated, readying to make another comment before Tarik raised a hand to call for silence. She paused and frowned, listening to what he had heard. Soundlessly, she rose and approached the door, breathing into Tarik's ear, "Is that Bronn? Why is he here?"

"I am unsure, but he is going up toward your quarters."

Kyren frowned and attempted to explain away the sellsword's actions, ignoring the chill down her spine. "Perhaps he has news about Tyrion?"

Tarik's fingers on her arm halted her immediately. "I don't trust him."

It was a sentiment with which she deeply, fervently agreed. They stood in silence, listening intently until the rumble of Bronn's voice - matched evenly by Shana's rich tones - disappeared. A few heartbeats after all noise had faded, Tarik ushered her toward the door. "Leave, leave now. I'll find a way to return your things to you, but you must go if you have any hope of going."

The moment a gap appeared between the opening door and the wall, Kyren pressed forward - but found her escape blocked by a figure. Startled, she stumbled back and saw Tarik reach for her, but a wild surge of energy seized her and she pushed once more in an attempt to dislodge the newcomer and escape, but her elbow was caught in a firm grip.

That hand burned through her sleeve and Kyren could do nothing more than stare helplessly into the emerald eyes of Ser Jaime Lannister. To his credit, he seemed as surprised as Kyren if she were to judge by the bewildered expression on his too-familiar face. He seemed much aged since she had seen him last - discounting their one-sided encounter in the Red Keep some weeks previously - and she wondered distantly how Robb could treat anyone so poorly, even a prisoner. She could see his dirt-crusted face so clearly in her memory that her heart ached. How she had hated to leave him behind, even when good sense and basic morality demanded she do so.

The next moment, Kyren remembered what Tyrion had told her: Robb was dead, as was Lady Cat. Tyrion had spared her the details, but it was common knowledge in the streets that Tywin Lannister had used the long reach of gold to ensure a swift end to the Northern rebellion. She tore her arm from his grasp, uncaring that Jaime stood blocking the doorway and further escape was impossible. She simply could not bear his hands on her.

"Are you well?" Tarik asked, brushing his fingertips down her arm in a gesture that spoke volumes of their physical familiarity.

For the first time since the door had been opened, Jaime's eyes drifted to Tarik and narrowed soon after. Kyren tensed once more, but Jaime only called over his shoulder for Bronn. Moments later, the sellsword appeared behind Jaime's shoulder and stood in expectant silence.

Shana, however, felt no such urge to keep silent. Instead, she peered at them from behind Jaime's other shoulder and beamed as she glanced between the two. "Dare I hope this means you two have reconciled?"

Jaime's jaw tightened until Kyren feared for his teeth, but when he spoke, it was with a smile and jovial tone. "Bronn, I believe we have found ourselves a travel companion."

Chaos descended then. Bronn began to laugh heartily for a reason Kyren could not decipher, Tarik began bellowing his plans for revenge if Jaime attempted to bring Kyren with him by force, and even Shana stated her opinion that Kyen would be far better suited to stay in King's Landing where the Dysers could keep close watch on her. In the midst of the arguing and manic laughter, Kyren and Jaime stood silent, each studying the other closely.

As Kyren's patience began to wear thin, Jaime turned to Bronn and said sharply, "I believe we should speak in private, don't you?"

Bronn nodded, turning to Shana with a smile that would have been disarming if it had been worn by another. "How about it, love? Can we have a bit of time in your pub to get things settled?"

Shana sighed, "Have at it."

"Mother!" Tarik snapped, but Kyren stepped away before he could do more. "Kyren, you do not have to go with them."

"All is well, Tarik," Kyren soothed. "It will do me no harm to hear what they have to say."

For all of her assurances, the three did not speak when they were at last alone in the empty hollow of Dyser's. Bronn smirked, Jaime glared, and Kyren glanced expectantly between the two. At last, she broke the silence. "If you wish to present your idea, it would be best to do so quickly. I am growing weary and impatient, likely not the attitude you would wish while I listen."

Jaime gave a half-smile - quite an intimidating expression as his eyes still burned fiercely. "There is little to discuss. We are traveling to Dorne and you will be accompanying us."

"No."

The simplicity of the statement was to her benefit, Kyren thought, but the reaction she received was the opposite. "Bronn," Jaime ordered lowly.

With nothing else to go on, Bronn stood from the bench beside Jaime and stood slightly closer to Kyren, hands inching toward his waist in a way that made Kyren's spine straighten.

"You will be accompanying us," Jaime repeated.

Kyren sighed and shifted further down the bench, disguising it as a fidget. "You have yet to provide me with any explanations. Why would I do such a thing?"

"You told me once that life - any life - is better than the alternative."

That was worth musing over. There was little use in asking if he was threatening her. From the clandestine departure and dark clothing, it was obvious that whatever their mission, it was to remain secret at all costs. Neither man would hesitate to remove the threat that she had presented.

However, she could not keep the tightness from her voice as she replied, "The girl who said that is dead. She died several times through the past five years. I believe I will need a better reason."

"Do you truly wish for me to kill you?" Jaime asked with a pretty frown. "I do not know that I could. Bronn, however, would find little difficulty in such an action."

Kyren glanced to Bronn at that. The sellsword gave a shrug. "Not that I would enjoy it, mind."

"Are you certain?" she asked skeptically. "Because, as I remember it, you have a score to settle. Something about a kitten scratch?"

He rubbed at his arm and gave a hard smile. "True enough, but only the worst sellswords kill for revenge." Kyren stared, taken aback by his unexpected show of conscience, but he only eyed her with a cold sort of menace. "The good ones find some cunt or another to pay for the job."

Moving a touch further down the bench, Kyren angled herself to be in a better position should Bronn attempt to act. She had a dagger within reach and could grasp it in a half-heartbeat if he so much as glanced away...

Jaime propped his chin on his hand to stare at her more intently and - even as she cursed herself for the weakness - Kyren could not help but meet his emerald gaze. In a longsuffering tone, he said, "Difficult as it is for me to believe that spending a fortnight in my presence is insufficient incentive, allow me to sweeten the offer: if you accompany us to Dorne and help us in retrieving my… niece… I will allow you to speak - _speak only_ , mind you - with Arya Stark."

* * *

It was a low blow, Jaime readily admitted, but he could not allow Bronn to kill Kyren or vice versa. Even as he made the offer, his stomach dropped at the surge of hope on Kyren's face. She wiped it clear in the next moment, but not soon enough; he had seen and knew his lure had been swallowed.

"You do not have Arya," she said, the false bravado in her voice wavering so greatly that it was nearly a question. "You only had Sansa and she's long since escaped."

"Yes, she did," Jaime agreed through gritted teeth. He did not believe Sansa Stark capable of killing Joffrey - though she had more reason to hate him than most - but Jaime's failure to recapture her had been another wedge driven between Cersei and himself. "But then, Arya was never given such an opportunity."

Kyren's face was a sight. She looked hopeful, fearful, and lost all at once. Jaime almost found it easier to look at Bronn as he lied, thought Bronn's expression of tolerant amusement was grating enough to prevent him from doing so.

"Yes, she has remained locked away since the time of her father's death. She was far too full of threats and violence… at first. Now, she grows silent, listless." Jaime ground the axe of his words a tad deeper with the expertise of a career woodsman. "I had hoped that a visit from you would be sufficient to return her to herself, but perhaps it is better to keep her as she is: utterly without hope."

He fell silent then, allowing the warning in his words to echo in Kyren's mind. Expressions battled across her transparent face, brows dancing as her lips twitched in half-muttered speculations.

"Very well," she agreed eventually, wariness coating her words. "For your guarantee of a visit with Arya - and your _promise_ that I will escape the Keep unharmed - I will accompany you to Dorne."

"Naturally," he replied. "I swear it on my honor as a member of the Kingsguard."

To his shock, Kyren snorted loudly. "You'll have to excuse me if I do not accept any vow on behalf of your honor."

Bronn laughed aloud, the traitor, while Jaime stared at her with a sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach. He had fallen so far in her estimation, then? "Very well. What vow could I make that you would believe?"

She thought for a moment before a wicked gleam appeared in those so-familiar witch's eyes. "Swear it behalf of the Queen." Jaime frowned, his mind offering him an image of Queen Margaery before Kyren smirked and corrected, "Oh, Cersei is not the Queen anymore, is she? My apologies. Swear it on your sister, then. Your love for her."

This time, Bronn gave an outright guffaw, a fitting tune for the most shamed Jaime had felt in a long while. With a surge of temper for the naively harsh judgement, he gritted out, "I swear on my love for my sister that I will accompany you to see Arya and escort you safely from the Red Keep."

She eyed him solemnly before giving a shallow nod and rising to her feet. "Very well. When do we depart?"

Jaime cleared his throat, attempting to regain his sense of control. "We leave for the port now. We shall wait for you to pack."

She wanted to argue. He could see that much in her eyes, but Kyren remained silent as she left the room - careful to keep them both in view until she turned the last corner.

"I like her more than I remembered," Bronn said with a low laugh.

"Yes, I could tell," Jaime said dryly. "Go guard the stairs to her room. I do not trust that she and that _boy_ have no plans to spirit her away."

* * *

Secreted away in a corner between a barrel and a stack of roughly-coiled rope, Kyren unleashed a series of the worst swears she had already been taught by the sailors of this voyage. It was undignified and crass, but she relished the feel of each vulgar word, imagining them flying from her lips to sting the golden ears of Ser Jaime Lannister.

She had agreed to travel with him and Bronn - the reason behind their voyage to Dorne still a complete mystery - but had yet to understand why the knight seemed intent upon making the experience a misery for Kyren. The voyage from Blackwater Bay to Sunspear would require little more than two days, and their ship had departed the Blackwater as the sun rose on the same day that was currently ending in a blaze of yellow and orange reflected on rolling waves. Still, scarcely a full hour had passed in which Jaime had not sought her out; for what purpose, she did not know.

Footsteps. Those were footsteps she had been hearing, but the odd hollow sound of boots on thin wooden floors made any tread difficult to recognize. With any luck, it was a wayward sailor or Bronn or even a ghost haunting the creaking underbelly of the ship.

Kyren waited, not even daring to breathe for fear of giving her position away, but a low chuckle confirmed the identity she had feared.

"Clever choice of seat, but you do know that we've hired the whole ship? No need to spend the voyage in such a place."

With a few more hollow footsteps, Jaime rounded into sight around the barrel Kyren sat beside. "I would spend the voyage in silent solitude, had I the choice."

"It is not so large a ship that we may all be blessed with silent solitude," Jaime replied with a shrug. "And surely you did not think you could hide here? Your hair quite gives you away." Before Kyren could move away, he had reached for her and tugged one of the short strands before her face. "I will say that the eye does not enjoy dwelling on this hideous cut."

Kyren slapped his hand away and glared up at him.

To her dismay, he began to laugh, the lines on his face only serving to make him more handsome. "Such a fierce little thing you are! With those eyes in this gloom, you look almost like a-"

He fell suddenly, awkwardly silent and Kyren managed to speak past the lump in her throat to ask, "Like a-? A what?" He made no attempt to answer and she nodded to herself. "Like a wolf, you were going to say? Yes, I am a wolf. Perhaps not by blood, but certainly by loyalty."

"I could never forget that," he said, sketching a bow in her direction. Kyren tried to remain unaffected by the charming gesture, but lost a bit of composure when he looked up at her with compassion in his eyes. "I am sorry."

"Why would you be?" she whispered and was sorry for it; the softness of her voice created a false intimacy in the dim hall, lit only by a single swaying lantern and warmed by their words. She shook her head, asking more firmly, "He bested you on multiple occasions. He will be remembered as a green boy, yet a master strategist. He won against the fearsome Lannisters who killed him only through trickery and deceit."

"Two of my father's most notable skills, I'm afraid," Jaime replied with a soft smile instead of growing enraged as Kyren had hoped. She wanted suddenly, _fervently_ , to throw him off-guard.

"You have hidden a hand inside your sleeve since we left King's Landing. Have you gained a sudden desire to mimic Varys?"

"No such thing," he said with a forlorn sort of wink. "I simply did not wish for you to become intimidated. As you can see, I am wearing my wealth almost literally on my sleeve."

He withdrew his arm from a fold of his tunic and Kyren's breath halted at the sight of a well-formed but rigidly-wrought metal hand. When she could finally look away, her gaze met Jaime's and she whispered, "Robb did not do that."

"Such faith," Jaime smirked. "Why? He did lock me in a cage for the better part of a year, chained in my own filth."

Kyren shook her head. "If Robb had wished to kill you, he would have. Whoever did that to you wanted you to die slowly, a little with every passing day. They hated you enough that their aim was for you to wish you were dead."

"This may shock you, but I was far from willing to give in to death," Jaime said icily. "Why would I wish I were dead?"

"You are the Kingslayer," she explained slowly, "famous for your sword-fighting prowess, but now it is gone."

Jaime laughed and it was such a cold, glittering sound that Kyren's eyes darted back to his face - when had she looked away? - and could see the cruelty in his expression. "And yet here I stand, crippled and useless, but alive. Your precious Robb lost his head and had that of his direwolf sewn on in its place."

She had known he would lash out. She had read it in his face, the pitch of his voice, but she had still been unprepared for the hate-filled outburst and felt herself blanch. She turned her face into the darkness between the coils of rope and the wall of the ship in an attempt to hide it, but she could hear Jaime's regretful sigh.

"I apologize, Kyren-"

"You always say that," she retorted, savagely glad at the shock on his face. "You say these cruel, terrible things and apologize when the reaction causes you guilt. Your lack of control is not my concern, and I would thank you to direct your poison elsewhere." She moved to stand, but he blocked her way, eyes flicking over her face.

"I am sorry."

"Why?" she asked before she could think better of it.

Frustration flashed across Jaime's face as he pushed away to sit on the swaying staircase that led up to the main deck. "What do you want from me?"

Kyren stood, but remained close to the wall, uncertain of how to respond. Eventually, she offered, "You sought me out. I should be asking the same of you."

"I had hoped- hoped we could be friends. As we were once." He glanced at her, uncertainty in his manner. "Were we not?"

"When your father ordered you to bring me to him as additional leverage to use against the Starks?"

He laughed humorlessly. "No, before that."

It was Kyren's turn to sigh as she took a step closer to the staircase. "We were friends," she confirmed. "At the least, I like to believe we were."

He did not look up at her again, but the furrow between his brows eased.

Kyren moved to sit beside him on the narrow staircase. "I loved Robb," she said bluntly, watching the tension return to Jaime's face and posture, but continued regardless. "We were companions from a young age. Everyone speaks of Ned Stark and his pack of strays. The man collected people, ones cast aside by the world. Robb was going to be just the same. He was to be Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North just as his father before him and yet his closest friend was his father's bastard. He found an ally in Theon Greyjoy, the son of a rebel against the throne. My family was painfully poor and we lived so far north that we could be considered Wildlings, but Robb treated me as a sister.

"I loved him and it enrages me that he and his wife will never see their child born. They will never announce their love to her parents, never tell Arya and Sansa that Robb wedded, never hold each other close and watch their son take his first steps. Everything they had, everything they would ever have, was stolen away from them because there was no other way the south could find to best him."

Jaime's head dropped closer to his knees as he admitted, "I had not known that the woman was with child."

"I have it on good authority that she was attacked first, stabbed in the stomach. If you did not know, you are the only one." Kyren could not keep the sorrow from her voice. She did not try.

"I am sorry." This whispered apology held more sincerity than anything the knight had ever said to Kyren.

"I do not understand why. I loved Robb, but he was your enemy. Why should you be sorry that an enemy is dead?"

Jaime paused for a long moment. "I am not sorry that he is dead, but I am sorry for the pain that his death caused you."

Kyren nodded solemnly. "Thank you, I appreciate that. It is a wonderful sentiment from a friend."

She did not look at him, but Kyren could feel the light of his smile as he bumped her shoulder with his own. In an attempt to take advantage of his good humor, she asked, "Will you ever tell me what is so important in Dorne?"

His smile faded slowly. "I cannot. It is a matter of some delicacy and danger. Not only to us, but to those in King's Landing as well."

"I would never ask you to betray the safety of your son."

The last word fell like a stone into the suddenly tomb-like quiet of the lower deck. Kyren wondered for a moment if Jaime would bother to deny the true parentage of his children, but when he spoke, it was to ask, "Are you sorry that Joffrey is dead?"

Kyren pushed several strands of salt-stiffened hair away from her face while she pondered his question. "No, I am not. From all that I've heard, he was quite mad. However, I am sorry for the pain that his death caused you."

Jaime smiled over at her and the brilliance of it was difficult to bear in the gloom of the ship's underbelly. She found herself taking the flesh-and-blood hand he still possessed and pressing it slightly. His smile faded once more and Kyren did not know whether to attribute it to the movement of the ship or something more, but he seemed to be leaning closer…

"Mhmmph, 'scuse me Ser, urchin," a sailor muttered wearily as he stood a few boards above their seat.

"Of course," Kyren said as she leapt up from her seat. Jaime released her hand reluctantly, but the sailor passed and neither made no further attempt at conversation. In the silence, Kyren stared at her feet and told them, "I should retire to my cabin before it grows too difficult to see."

"Do you require an escort?" Jaime asked solicitously.

"No, thank you. Goodnight."

If silences could be said to hold qualities, Kyren would have sworn that the silence chasing her away from Jaime held a note of amusement.

* * *

Author's Note \- Okay, inexcusably long time between chapter postings here. I can only apologize again and promise that I am taking steps to make sure that such a long gap is never repeated. I was just so upset with the end of GoT that all of my motivation to write disappeared for a minute. However, I've got some ideas on how to make the end suck a bit less and I think I may have regained my appreciation for the show.

Special thanks to zemblenity and lokidoki9 for their reviews on the last chapter!

Again, I apologize for the long gap between postings. I hear that some people manage to balance their lives so that they have time for work and fun. I'm still working on that balance part, but I promise I'm trying! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Leave a review or a private message if you have comments, questions, or concerns and I'll see you soon!


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"You're in terribly high spirits considering we're about to die," Bronn said casually. When Jaime glanced over to better guess at the sellsword's meaning, Bronn waggled his eyebrows in a manner that seemed nothing less than obscene.

"I'm about to save my only daughter from being murdered in a strange land. Of course I am happy."

Bronn scoffed openly. "I suppose our new company has nothing to do with it?"

"I cannot imagine what you mean," Jaime denied airily. "And I intend to survive whatever Dorne has to offer."

"Well, if you do survive, the girl is gonna kill you. You promised to take her to Arya Stark and, unless I missed something damned important, you don't have the little wolf."

"While your concern is appreciated, I have a plan in place."

With only a snort to express his disbelief, Bronn fell silent. Jaime could not fight a surge of satisfaction with the situation as a whole. Kyren was with them. He had begun to make amends with her and had gotten to see her at a state less alert than was typical as he had been the one to wake her several hours after night fell. He had offered her the corset he had confiscated before the start of their voyage - thus removing any possibility that she would stab him for his persistence - and warned her to wear it that day. Despite his cheery demeanor, Jaime was coldly certain that they would need all the weaponry they had at their disposal.

Silence was vital as they lowered the small boat into the dark waters and climbed down into it, but Jaime needn't have worried about Kyren. The loudest member of the group by far was Jaime himself. When they at last were seated in the scant space, Jaime felt more purposeless than ever before. There were two sets of oars in the boat and his golden hand ensured that he could not so much as offer to assist the others.

Between Kyren and Bronn, the distance to the shore shrank rapidly until they gratefully spilled onto the chilled sand. With only minimal conversation, each found a comfortable space on the shore and closed their eyes in an attempt to sleep a bit before the next leg of their journey.

When Jaime opened his eyes once more, it was to Bronn holding a sword high above his head, readying for a swing. Jaime flinched back, but Bronn stabbed the ground a half second after another soft _plop!_ sounded. A frenzied glance sideways revealed a large, poison-bright snake pinned between Bronn's sword through its head and one of Kyren's daggers piercing its tail.

Despite the muscle spasms causing the snake to writhe eerily, Bronn picked it up with a wide grin. "Breakfast."

Another flick flung Kyren's dagger spinning into the sand. She retrieved it silently, sliding it into a holster bound to the inside of her forearm with a series of leather straps. Jaime raised an eyebrow as Bronn went about building a small fire.

"I am increasingly glad I returned your daggers before we left the ship, but I do not believe that one was among them."

Kyren returned his stare with a cool one of her own. "I have acquired several new weapons in my travels."

"Travels?" he repeated.

She shook her head, the mischievous grin playing around her lips making Jaime feel a bit off balance. "Suffice it to say that Dorne is one of my more tame destinations."

Kyren refused a portion of the snake, opting to eat a small biscuit she retrieved from somewhere on her person. The knowledge that he had nearly died due to the creature made Jaime reluctant to take more than a bite or two. After watching Bronn gleefully consume the majority of the snake, Jaime called on everyone to keep moving.

They had not passed the wind-swept dunes of Dorne's beaches before they were forced to hide from a group of four Dornish guards. Jaime scarcely dared to breathe, but they were soon discovered. The guards demanded for them to reveal themselves and Bronn and Jaime began to move to their feet.

In a low hiss, Kyren ordered, "Grab me."

Bronn made a half-hearted move toward Kyren's arm, but Jaime reached out to wrap his right arm around her waist. She struggled slightly as they were revealed to the guards.

"Release the woman," the head guard commanded. When Jaime did not immediately obey, he snapped, "Now!"

Jaime slowly released his hold on Kyren. She stumbled forward, moving a noticeable distance closer to the guards. She wrapped her arms around her as if gasping for air, bending toward the ground.

"Stand up, woman!" the same guard said harshly. She nodded, but did not make any other move. He rode forward several paces. "I said-"

His statement ended in a gurgle as Kyren straightened and launched a dagger directly into his throat. Jaime stared wide-eyed at Bronn, who gave a willing sort of shrug and seized his sword. The other guards surged forward and the sellsword gave a swing directly at the neck of the first horse.

The beast fell, throwing his rider roughly to the ground. Bronn turned to give a half salute in Jaime's direction. "Yours, I think."

Then he turned to face down the other two riders. Only one was truly a threat, as Kyren had confiscated the long spear from the huddled heap that had been the first guard and was spinning it through the air with an impressive dexterity.

* * *

When the action had passed, Kyren thrust the spear down into the ground and brushed off her hands. No matter how careful she was, there was always blood in a fight. Bronn ambled over to her and began looking with interest at the contents of one of the guard's packs.

Seized with a sudden realization, Kyren rounded on him. "Did you kill a fucking _horse_?"

Bronn huffed, apparently affronted. "Me? Kill a Dornish stallion? Of course not." He clicked his tongue a few times and a beautiful black horse picked his nervous way through the bodies to snuff at Bronn's shoulder. He grinned, patting the stallion's nose. "I hit the chest plate these Dornishmen strap on them. Lot of noise, little blood, enough fear to make even a brave lad like him throw his rider."

Disbelieving, Kyren studied the horse's chest. True to his word, Bronn had not inflicted the damage she had been sure she would see. Instead, there was only a cut less than an inch long and a battered metal plate dangling toward the stallion's forelegs from frayed leather straps.

"I lived, thank you for the concern," Jaime said, approaching from over a nearby hill.

"I knew you would," Bronn said unconcernedly. "You had a wonderful teacher."

"Shut up," Jaime told him, voice weary. "We need to put on these uniforms."

"And what of the lady in our midst?" Bronn asked.

"I'll do the same," Kyren answered before either could say anything further. After the unpleasant process of stripping the clothing from the body of the least bloody guard, Kyren retreated behind the closest dune to change. The tunic was far too long, as she had expected, so Kyren ripped a wide swath from the bottom and used it to bind her chest.

When she emerged back where the others stood, Bronn began to guffaw. "That's terrible!"

"You are supremely unconvincing as a man," Jaime agreed, grinning widely.

Kyren ignored them both, mounting the tallest of the horses and settling comfortably in the saddle. Once there, she wrapped her head in the same manner she had seen on the guards and drew the end across to conceal the lower half of her face.

Bronn peered up at her curiously. "Somehow not as bad now."

"We should move," Jaime suggested, mimicking Kyren's motions to create a head wrap.

Having already done the same, Bronn climbed on the stallion he had frightened earlier and tapped his heels against the horse's sides. As the stallion set off at a trot, Bronn began to sing loudly and, with a single commiserating glance, Kyren and Jaime trailed behind.

After joining with a string of peasants hoping to sell goods in the markets of Sunspear, the three reached the seat of House Dorne without further complication. Dressed as guards, there was no resistance inside the castle and an overheard conversation sent them to the Water Gardens to find Myrcella in the presence of her intended.

Before they entered, Jaime paused to stare down at Kyren. "Perhaps you should wait outside."

"Perhaps _you_ should," Kyren proposed instead. "Fighting seems to be a challenge for you now when it was not before. Bronn and I will return your daughter to you."

Bronn's snigger made a muscle throb visibly in Jaime's jaw. "Follow me."

"You are not helping the situation," she pointed out to Bronn as Jaime turned a corner.

"I'm not trying to," he responded blithely.

Kyren lifted her eyes to the heavens and moved around him. Her world narrowed to Jaime's back as they moved between the bright colors and lovely scents of the gardens. Kyren would have loved nothing more than to stare her fill at their splendid surroundings, but Jaime walked rapidly and stopped at a moment's notice if he heard any noise he did not expect. Her entire attention thus absorbed, Kyren did not fully understand why they had been halted for such a length until a laugh rumbled through Bronn's body behind her.

"She's made herself at home."

Kyren leaned to peer around Jaime to see what had stopped him. A beautiful girl with his golden hair and coloring was locked in passionate embrace with a dark-featured boy. He was as eye-catching as she, both perfectly matched in looks and pleasingly opposite in coloring.

"Myrcella!" Jaime called, striding forward.

Kyren began to match his motion, but Bronn caught her by the arm. "He was right earlier. We do need someone to stay behind, make sure no one plans to catch us when we aren't looking."

"But-"

"Stay here," Bronn said. "Wish to the gods I could."

And so Kyren concealed herself as best she could among the vivid plants and graceful pillars of the Water Gardens. She watched as Jaime spoke with his daughter, grimaced when Bronn struck the boy, and leapt to attention when she caught sight of three females racing full-tilt through the serenity of the gardens.

She moved quickly, ripping the heavy guard's garments from her. Her improvised breast band rode beneath the thin undertunic she wore, but her arms were left bare. Her legs were concealed only by the tight riding breeches she had dressed in before their departure from the ship. Kyren was unnerved by the large amount of skin bared with the loss of the concealing cloth, but it would have done little to stop a blade and much to frustrate her movements as she fought.

The three assailants used different weapons but seemed well aware of Jaime's shortcomings. He faced only one female using a spear very similar to the one Kyren still held. The other two females had identified Bronn as the true threat, and he was forced to fight off simultaneous attacks from a girl with a whip and one using two daggers.

Though she would like to claim that she had chosen to aid Jaime because he was less likely to defend himself, her reasons were far less pure. Their conversation on the ship had softened her hate toward him, turned that fire into something frighteningly close to understanding.

As Kyren passed by, however, Bronn managed to trap the end of the whip under his boots and Kyren slashed at the girl's hand as she sprinted by, causing her to drop the handle. Bronn bundled up the whip with impressive speed and threw it into the middle of a pond nearby, fending off the other girl's dagger strikes with ease.

"Get the princess!" the girl with the daggers ordered.

Kyren was nearing Jaime and Myrcella then, and watched the female warrior pull her arm back to launch the spear. Kyren grabbed and threw a dagger which was batted away with ease, but the focus of the dark-haired woman was taken from Jaime and his daughter. Kyren slid to a stop and began attacking in the same moment, using every bit of knowledge she had learned about staff fighting.

Her knowledge was enough to hold off the warrior, but the other woman was infinitely more aware that the spear was a blade as well as a staff. She tipped the spear forward, thrusting it deep into Kyren's bicep and she cried out, dimly aware that Jaime had called her name as well. With gritted teeth, Kyren levered the shaft of the spear against the other and held the woman at arm's length. Her strength was beginning to fail her and - with a single thought toward Theon, who had favored this very move - buckled her arms and kicked the other woman in the chest with all of her might.

The woman stumbled back, gasping, and Kyren approached to put the head of the spear at her throat when she heard new steps approaching and looked up just in time to see a new figure in the gardens, clothed much as she had been but in dark colors that helped him or her stand out against the green.

The newcomer attacked Kyren with a fervor that was astounding even as the woman who had previously wielded the whip came to take Myrcella. Jaime was attempting to fight her off, but Kyren's entire being was absorbed in the battle she had taken on.

The man - for she decided that he was indeed male - was relentless. On several occasions, she was certain that he would remove her head completely and only just managed to move away in time. As her strength failed her completely and death seemed only moments away, guards clattered into the gardens and ordered the surrender of all weapons. Kyren stared up at the face of her opponent, waiting to see if he would listen or take her head first.

After a long moment, he dropped his spear and removed the strip of cloth obscuring the lower half of his face all at once. Kyren gaped. "Gyll?"

The sight of his dark coloring and once-kind brown eyes brought her to an abrupt halt. As most of her mind rejected the possibility, a small part of her understood why she had been so unable to best him. How could she hope to win against the man who had taught her to staff-fight in the first place?

The confusion swirling through her kept everything in a fog until she had been locked in the dungeons along with the others. She moved to follow Bronn and Jaime to a cell on the right side of the main corridor, but was stopped by a motion from the guard who accompanied them. "Left for females."

"Wait a moment, she is with us," Jaime commanded. "She fought with us and belongs in our cell."

The guard seemed unconvinced. "We separate male and female prisoners. Discourages unseemly behavior."

"Unseemly? And here I was always told that Dornishmen would gladly fuck their own mothers as long as she was facing the opposite direction," Bronn supplied cheerfully.

The guard waited a long moment before backhanding the sellsword. Bronn spat a mouthful of blood and grinned through stained teeth. "Suppose I should have expected that. Revenge is what your people are known for, yeah?" He strode blithely into the cell and seated himself comfortably, starting to sing what promised to be a rather ribald song about the Dornishman's wife.

"Go," the guard ordered, pushing Kyren toward the open doorway into the females' cell.

"Kyren!" Jaime barked, and she could not help but look back. "Do not so much as touch her or I will string your entrails from my ship!"

The short-haired Sand sister laughed lowly. "I cannot promise such a thing," she murmured, stroking a hand across Kyren's bare shoulder.

"Tyene," the whip wielder admonished wearily. "Grow up."

Tyene laughed merrily and moved to sit beside the door to their cell.

No one spoke for a great length of time after that, though Kyren rather wished they would. Bronn was still belting his song from the other cell, pausing and adding more inappropriate verses as he invented them. None of them were clever enough to pull her mind away from Gyll locked in the other cell. Even the chaos of Jaime leaving could not distract her completely.

"How did three Dornish rebels hire a trader from Essos?" Kyren asked at last.

The whip wielder leaned forward, studying Kyren with interest. "Do you speak of our staff fighter? You believe you know him?"

"I do," Kyren said simply.

"You do not," she replied. "Have you never heard of the-"

"Nym," the silently-seething woman in the corner snapped, voice sharp. "Let us not divulge all of our secrets."

"Nym?" Kyren asked, unable to keep the amusement from her face.

"Nymeria," Nym explained and Kyren flinched at the resulting memories of Arya and her beloved direwolf. Curiosity bloomed across two of the three faces in Kyren's sight, but Nym only asked, "And you?"

"Kyren."

"Well, Kyren, you've quite the skill with a staff," Nym complimented. "Not many can keep my sister from her prize. Obara has been training since she was a young girl."

"She is very skilled," Kyren admitted. "I was certain she would win unless I forsook honor." She turned to regard stone-faced Obara. "It would not have been my first choice and I apologize."

She refused to meet Kyren's gaze with her own, but Obara did appear to bear a whisper of a smile when she said, "I agree that you never would have bested me in a fair fight. You move as one who has just picked up her first staff."

"Not far from the truth. I only began training a year ago."

"What is your weapon of choice?" Obara asked.

"Daggers."

Tyene laughed from her post by the door. "Mine, too. Do you have any skill?"

"You favor close combat, do you not?" Kyren remarked, and when Tyene nodded, she said, "I do not. I throw my daggers."

"You throw them?" Tyene seemed somewhere between intrigued and horrified by the prospect. "What if you throw all of them and need more?"

Kyren shrugged, allowing a hint of pride in her voice. "I retrieve them from the bodies. I do not miss."

Nym chuckled. "You and Tyene use daggers very differently, then."

Kyren glanced curiously at the short-haired girl, who grinned conspiratorially. "I prefer to dip mine in poison. Your friend across the hall should feel the effects soon."

"Bronn?" Kyren asked, heart in her throat. She lurched to her feet, but Obara and Nym caught her by the arms and forced her to sit once more.

Obara placed cool fingers on either side of the scabbed-over cut on Kyren's bicep. "I respect you as a warrior, but if you make another sound, I will rip your wound open until I see your bones."

Kyren sat helpless as Tyene taunted Bronn, teasing him as she removed articles of her clothing before revealing that he had been poisoned. She then shifted her focus to the antidote, refusing to administer it until after he admitted she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

After he had emptied the tiny bottle Tyene tossed to him, Bronn fell back and slept against the cold stone floor of his cell. When Kyren was released, she moved to the door of the female cell and stared at Bronn. Gyll stared back at her impassively. "Do not worry. He no longer stinks of mortality. The Many-Faced God will make no visits here this day."

"Are you from Braavos?" Kyren asked. She had met him traveling from there, but he had not shown any sign of an accent nor mentioned that it was his birthplace.

He confirmed her suspicions with his response. "I am not. Why?"

"The only men I've ever met who mentioned the Many-Faced God are from Braavos."

Gyll did not respond to that, turning instead to stare out the barred window. The silence continued until the guards returned to take Bronn from his cell.

Bronn seemed unconcerned. "Am I gonna be happy at the end of this walk?"

"You'll find out very soon," the head guard answered shortly.

And they were gone, all of Kyren's questions left unanswered.

"Do not worry," Obara told her, a cold weariness in her tone. "Doran lacks the pride to kill your friend, even for such an insult as striking the son of a prince."

"Having mercy is not the same as lacking pride," Kyren returned.

"Oh?" Nym asked lightly. "And your Lannister king would allow a common sellsword to strike him and walk away?"

"I would not know. I have not seen how he chooses to rule."

A snort from Obara was her only response and the silence stretched once more, lasting until the guards returned to release them from the cells. The same guards escorted the three Sands to meet with Prince Doran, leaving Kyren to eye Gyll with suspicion and sorrow. When she had met him on the road through the Timetbre Mountains, he had been kind and warm, approachable and outgoing. Yet now, he had attempted to murder an innocent princess, and for what cause? To spark a rebellion against a prince who dared offer mercy to those who had offered only the slightest insult?

In a precarious quiet, the two made their way out to an open courtyard. Gyll came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the sun-soaked ground, crossing gloved arms across his chest and proclaiming, "I shall wait for the Sand Snakes here."

"Sand Snakes?" Kyren repeated, looking to see if he was jesting, but his dark face remained serious. "What terrible things happened to change you so?"

"Perhaps I have been charged with a terrible mission," he replied mysteriously. "I have been given responsibilities. You have as well, Kyren Asheworth. The Many-Faced God has plans for you."

Kyren narrowed her eyes at him, seeing a different man in her mind. A man with long red hair, streaked with a single strand of white. He had said that the Many-Faced God would send a follower to find her if she was needed.

"You would not happen to know a man by the name of Jaqen H'ghar, would you?" she asked plainly.

Had she seen a spark of something in his eyes? She doubted it. When Gyll spoke, his voice was as flat and toneless as it had been since she spoke to him in Dorne. "I do not."

She eyed him for another moment. "If you should happen to see him, tell him I said hello."

"As Alis Waters or Kyren Asheworth?"

Kyren forced herself to give a careless shrug. "Either one. I believe him clever enough to know me by either name."

With that, she departed the courtyard. Her last view of Gyll saw him giving an odd half smile. It was a familiar expression, but on the wrong face.

"You shall be pleased to learn that your man is alive," Tyene said without preamble as they nearly collided on Kyren's journey into Sunspear castle.

"As is yours," Kyren parried immediately, "though I would like to ask where you found him."

"He came to us," Nym explained. "Claimed that the Many-Faced God demanded he be here."

"Superstition," grunted Obara. "Strange men and their strange gods have no place in our plans, especially when they insist on keeping secrets."

Tyene crossed her arms and leveled a skeptical look at her companion. "I would not be so certain. Remember the stories of the Braavosi men?"

"Stories?" Kyren asked curiously. "What stories?"

Obara and Nym groaned simultaneously, but Tyene seemed undaunted, leaning closer to whisper, "They say there is a group in Braavos, assassins who can change their faces as others change clothes."

"That cannot possibly be true." Kyren's denial was flat.

"It is! We spoke to one. He was a strange man, never told why he was in Dorne, but…" Tyene trailed off to sigh wistfully. "He was beautiful."

Nym made a noise of disgust. "I will never understand why you like men with red hair. It is unattractive. No offense," she added to Kyren.

"But it was such a pretty color!" Tyene protested. "And a streak of white to set it off."

A chill raced its way up Kyren's spine. "Red hair with a white streak? He sounds odd."

"And you never even heard him speak," Obara muttered.

"Allow me to hazard a guess: did a man speak in such a way?" Kyren asked, praying that she was wrong.

"Yes, yes, exactly!"

"How did you guess?"

"I believe I met him before." Kyren paused to think for a moment. "But perhaps not. He had the same face every time I saw him."

"You should count yourself blessed, then," Tyene told her. "If he wore the same face, he did not mean you harm."

"Kyren!"

All four females turned to find Jaime Lannister staring at them from an open window nearby. He beckoned to her and she bowed to her companions. "If you all would be so kind as to excuse me?"

She had taken only steps before Obara spoke to stop her. "Would you care for some advice, Westerosi? Be careful around that man."

Kyren only nodded in return.

When she had circled into the palace and located the door to Jaime's chambers, Kyren found him standing next to the entrance. As soon as she stepped inside, he grasped her by the elbow and began to examine her. "Are you well? Did they harm you? I would never have chosen to leave you in those cells."

"I am well," Kyren told him, struggling to extricate herself from his hold. "Unharmed, even after being alone in the cells. How goes the fight to reclaim your daughter for King's Landing?"

"Nearly resolved, in fact. We are set to depart tomorrow morning along with Myrcella and Trystane. Doran has even granted us a ship for the return voyage to King's Landing." He pursed his lips before adding, "Attempt to limit your time with the Sands. I do not find them trustworthy."

When Kyren laughed, it was mirthless. "They said much the same about you."

* * *

Author's Note \- Does anyone remember Gyll? He's from a couple of chapters ago, as Kyren was traveling through Essos. If you do, good memory and congrats! Anyway, hello! I'm trying to update this story at least once a month in an effort to balance work, school, and writing for fun.

Special thanks to Lady Jensen and Winter Frostine for their reviews!

Drop a review on your way out if you can as I would greatly love the feedback. Helps keep me passionate about writing when I have the time. Thanks for reading and I hope to see you all soon! Have a great day!


	31. Chapter Thirty

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related title, character, plot, setting, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Thirty

They boarded the Dornish ship without incident, though Bronn did linger for a moment to speak with Tyene. Myrcella, having graciously accepted a kiss from the formidable Ellaria Sand, had entered with her love beside her, not a second's hesitation to be seen. Kyren and Jaime boarded next even as Jaime called a sharp reminder to Bronn that he not waste too much time in flirting. The collected group had chortled and Jaime placed a casual hand around Kyren's waist, steering her into the ship ahead of him. Kyren was not truly aware of Bronn joining them as she was occupied in escaping the distractingly-warm grip. She retreated to the far reaches of the ship before the beginning of their return voyage, well before midday. As the ship sailed away from Sunspear, Kyren allowed herself to relax at last. The danger was behind them for now.

Regardless of her attempt at tranquility, Kyren was restless. The ship was spacious and graced with a clean design, but there was little to do with such efficient staff. Bronn had been amusing himself with a female who had been sent to accompany Myrcella, and Jaime was talking to the princess herself in a private cabin. Kyren had attempted to practice with her daggers, but found that they continuously pierced through the burlap of the sack she had chosen as a target and began to grow guilty at the splintered chunks she was removing from a large wooden beam of the ship.

Instead, she chose to explore the passenger section of the ship, having been warned to stay out of the crew's way. As she wandered down the tight corridor lined with doors leading to a variety of small guest rooms, Kyren abruptly heard Jaime's voice.

"Myrcella! Myrcella!"

Stomach tight with foreboding, Kyren plunged into the room without further thought. She was pulled up short by the weight of Jaime's plaintive gaze. "I cannot rouse her."

Kyren collapsed to her knees beside the girl. With a look at Myrcella's pale face and the thin line of blood trickling from one nostril, she suspected the worst, and after she checked for breath and found none, her suspicions were confirmed.

"She is dead," Kyren said gently, avoiding Jaime's eyes.

"No," he denied softly, lacking any conviction. "It cannot- She is not-"

He fell into silence, staring at the face of his daughter. Kyren looked as well. Myrcella was beautiful, the perfection combination of both Jaime's and Cersei's best traits. Her eyes were slightly open still, showing a clear emerald green that had yet to fog over completely. It would happen soon. Death treated all the same, noble or no.

"Did you do this?"

The harsh question was mumbled, the resulting sound so unintelligible that Kyren could only glance up at Jaime before he was leaping at her. As was typical for grappling - despite all of the practice Kyren had received since their last bout - the element of surprise was a powerful tool and she soon lost to Jaime's anger-heightened strength. Pinned to the floor by every inch of his considerable muscle and sinew, Kyren would almost have accused him of attempting something untoward if not for the wild light in his eyes, matched by the desperation of his grip on her throat.

"Did you kill her?"

Kyren calmed herself as best she could, knowing that she would likely only receive one chance with his fervor. With as much sincerity as she could muster past the hand constricting her breathing, she replied, "I swear upon every ounce of honor left to my name that I would never harm your daughter."

There was a moment of terrible silence after her proclamation, one in which his grip tightened minutely even as his face grew slack. Almost distantly, Jaime pulled away from her, rolling to the side as he gazed at his daughter once more. Kyren waited to see his next movements before she attempted to leave, but there was little to see. Robbed of his chance for revenge upon his daughter's murderer, Jaime seemed utterly lost.

When he at last moved, it was to pull his knees toward his chest and bury his face in his hands. Heaving sobs wracked his body shortly afterward as Kyren looked on with a lump in her throat. Jaime's reaction humanized him in her eyes with a disorienting abruptness, and tears rose as she shared in the tragedy of what had happened.

Movements gentle, Kyren stood only to approach Myrcella's body, turning her to a more natural-looking position on her back, hands folded over her chest. With a shaking hand, Kyren closed the girl's eyes, ones that looked disturbingly similar to those of the man whose grief she was attempting to ignore.

Uncertain of the protocol for such a situation, she placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "I shall go and fetch Bronn," she offered hesitantly and pulled away, hand trailing down his arm as she went.

Abruptly, Jaime's hand shot out, seizing hers and holding it to his forearm. She could feel the muscles working beneath her hand as he attempted to physically restrain the tears and she squeezed it in a poor attempt toward comfort. His golden head lifted, displaying a face so twisted in misery that he was nearly unrecognizable.

The logical part of Kyren - the one that continued to remind her how she had been forced to join in on this journey - urged her to leave and allow Bronn to handle the situation. She had not invited this upon herself. Why should it fall to her to console her blackmailer? However, the far larger part of Kyren was insistent that she help him. The man had just lost his daughter needlessly. And he was that now, a man. The legends of the golden lion of Lannister had fled the room when his tears appeared and seemed unwilling to make a reappearance.

Meeting Jaime's gaze, Kyren fell to her knees once more, wrapping him in the strongest embrace she could muster as she did so. He paused for a long moment before giving in and returning the gesture. His arms crossed her form easily, his flesh-and-blood hand wrapping around her shoulder while the molded gold one cradled the small of her back

For minutes, Kyren struggled as she attempted to find the right words for the situation, but her choice became easier when she realized that there were none. Instead, she offered comfort with open arms and the silent strength of her presence.

They remained like that for a length of time Kyren could not estimate. It could have been hours that they remained entwined, or only moments stretched long by the horror of grief. In either case, Kyren did not release Jaime until he pulled back from her.

He settled shakily back onto his haunches, staring at Myrcella with hollow eyes. Seized by a sudden sense of conviction, Kyren asserted, "Should I ever encounter the one who took her life, I will kill them."

With a mixture of suspicion and confusion on his face, Jaime turned to her. "Why? You held no love for Myrcella. You did not know her."

"She was innocent," Kyren explained, anger making her voice harsh. "She did nothing to deserve death so young. I do not hold with the killing of innocents."

"Thank you," he said plainly, brokenly.

Kyren was attempting to find a way to express all the emotions currently swirling within her, but the door opened once more and admitted a clearly-shocked Bronn. "What the _fuck_?"

"My daughter has been killed," Jaime said, voice remarkably stable for a man who had been weeping openly only minutes before. "I do not know how or why."

"I can tell you the how," Bronn said grimly, dabbing at the trail of blood beneath Myrcella's nose. "Poison. Those Sand cunts did the same to me, but gave me the antidote."

Jaime's back was to her, but Kyren could feel the tension rolling from him. She stared pointedly at Bronn from her place across the room and he seemed suddenly understanding. With an awkward pat to Jaime's shoulder, he offered, "It is a painless death, or near to it as can be. I'm glad she did not suffer, but I'm sorry all the same."

"Bring me Trystane," Jaime ordered heavily. "He should know."

"And if he already does?" Bronn asked.

"Then we force him to tell us what other information he possesses."

* * *

Kyren wished to know when Jaime would fulfill his promise to take her to Arya Stark. He could see it in her parchment eyes, though she was far too tactful to bring up favors owed just after the death of his only daughter. In all truthfulness, Jaime was in such a great amount of pain that it could not possibly grow worse. She needn't have worried, though he appreciated both the effort and the extended time to think over his course of action from this point.

"Cersei is coming to meet us at the docks," he warned Kyren as the ship sailed toward Blackwater Bay. "I shall sail with... I shall sail on a smaller boat, but you must remain on the ship. I cannot promise your safety if she sees you."

"Of course," Kyren said agreeably. Silently, he blessed her accepting attitude; when it appeared, it did little other than benefit him.

"When we are out of sight, take another boat to the north docks. Remain at Dyser's. I shall come to fetch you there when it is safe for you to enter the Red Keep unaccosted."

"And when do you believe that will be?" she asked gently, clearly loathe to ask such a thing of someone she considered to be in a delicate state.

"Within a day or two," he said decisively. She would not wait longer, and the coming conversation - while unpleasant - would provide a welcome respite from the upcoming entombment of his daughter.

"Very well," she acquiesced, but her eyes filled with a sort of soft light that made him pause, waiting to hear what else she had to tell him. "My sincerest condolences, Ser Jaime."

He had only given a stiff nod at the time, but after he boarded the travel skiff, he realized that Kyren had called him Ser. The title was one he had not heard from her since his fall from her esteem and it shocked him how dearly he had missed feeling worthy of her respect.

"What do you intend to tell her about Arya Stark?" Bronn asked from slightly behind him.

Jaime welcomed the distraction, narrowly skirting a fall into the ever-threatening pool of grief. Outwardly, he only gave a small shrug. "I have not decided. I might tell her that the girl escaped and is likely hiding in King's Landing."

"Far be it from me to encourage honesty, but have you thought about telling her the truth?"

With a grimace, Jaime admitted that he had. "I dread her reaction, but I cannot even find it in myself to blame her."

"Steady on," Bronn advised, patting Jaime's shoulder in his usual harsh manner. "Your sister awaits."

Jaime could already see his lovely sister, her golden hair in a sort of odd style that left her face without accent. When he realized that her long locks had been hewn off in such a rough, artless manner, his rage grew at the same pace that her smile shrank and disappeared.

Clearly, their time spent apart had been eventful for each in a way that was less than ideal. Someone would pay for the losses suffered by the Lannisters.

* * *

Kyren was weary as she walked the familiar path to Dyser's. No one had slept on the Dornish ship the previous night - except perhaps Bronn - having been impacted by the grief shared by Jaime and Trystane. As a result, Kyren's guard had dropped to a level she dimly acknowledged was unsafe on the streets of Flea Bottom. Fortunately, none attempted to take advantage of her inattentiveness, though whether it was due to recognition or the sorry state of her appearance, she was uncertain.

Having made it to Dyser's without incident, Kyren stumbled inside, met by Shana.

"Kyren, what are you doing here?" she asked, eyes a bit too wide.

"I have returned to Dorne. Would you be terribly put out if I slept in my old quarters for a few hours? I can leave whenever you desire after I have gotten some rest."

"No, please, sleep. Stay here as long as you need. We all will be here when you awaken."

"Thank you," Kyren mumbled blearily. Her last thought before drifting to sleep was to wonder who exactly made up Shana's mention of 'all'.

When she awoke, it was to the sound of voices. Far too many voices, in fact. Kyren shot upright, hands grasping for the daggers in the corset she had removed before falling asleep, but was stopped by a bruising grip on her arms. As quick as that, she was caught.

After her captors made their way down the narrow stairs and into the light of Dyser's, Kyren found herself staring into the faces of a number of unfamiliar guards. "Who-"

"You took your time coming here," Shana said coldly.

"The queen sends her thanks for your assistance," the head guard told her, handing over a large purse. From the dip of Shana's hands as she accepted it, the purse was quite filled with coin.

"Shana!" Kyren despised the weak plaintive note in her own voice, but could not manage to stifle her feelings of betrayal.

"I am certain you understand my decision," Shana returned. "We do have a child on the way and you excel at looking after your own interests."

Beyond that, there was no conversation as Kyren was dragged from Dyser's. Shana did not so much as look in Kyren's direction again, but it seemed she was the only one. Despite the lateness of the hour, half the population of Flea Bottom took to the streets to watch their progress toward the Red Keep. The jeers from the familiar residents of King's Landing hurt more than the bruising grip of the guards.

When they reached the Red Keep, Kyren was pushed unceremoniously into a dank cell. It was roughly the size of the one Tyrion had occupied and Kyren wondered dimly if this was a special consideration toward her or an insult to Tyrion. Either way, after thorough exploration of the chamber by light of the single sputtering torch, Kyren was forced to admit that no options for easy escape existed.

There was no natural light in the chamber, but Kyren figured a rough estimate of passing time from the burning of the torches and the regular arrival of food, seeming to roughly equate to one meal each day. She had attempted to converse with the serving girl who delivered her food, but the girl had been reluctant to speak, glancing around as though there were people waiting to punish her for the slightest bit of kindness toward the prisoner.

And thus, Kyren was pacing the perimeter of her cell when the door opened earlier than she had come to expect. "Kyren?"

She turned sharply to glare before returning to her pacing. "How dare you come here?" she asked, but days of imprisonment had turned the wild anger of her capture to a bitter weariness.

"I am sorry you find yourself in this position, Kyren," Jaime said, coming closer. "It seems that one or the other of us is in chains whenever we meet."

"The difference being that I had nothing at all to do with your capture by Robb," Kyren spat out.

Jaime matched her pacing at a speed allowing him to intercept her path, staring down at her with his irritatingly well-scrubbed face. "You believe _I_ am the reason you are here?"

Kyren paused, searching his face as she wavered for the first time in her belief that Jaime had ordered her imprisoned. "I- The situation would be a bit much for coincidence, you must agree. The moment you discover where I've been staying in Flea Bottom, I am seized from the same residence and brought here."

"Kyren…" he said slowly, a touch of hurt in his eyes, "I had nothing to do with your capture."

"Why should I believe that?" she asked, the lack of heat in her voice making her sound as though she were begging for a reason.

"I've known for quite some time that you stayed at Dyser's," he responded immediately. "If I wanted you thrown in the Red Keep's cells, why would I wait?"

"Because you needed me to help you bring Myrcella back," she told him, having spent some of her time in the cells considering that very question. "The situation did not go as planned and it is easier to let me rot down here than admit that you never had Arya."

He blinked, obviously startled by her knowledge, and she bit back a sigh. "I've known for some time that it was a falsehood."

"Then why come with me to Dorne?"

"We had already begun the voyage when I puzzled it out. Besides, helping a knight reclaim his daughter from a dangerous situation seemed the type of task one should do without expectation of reward."

Kyren could feel Jaime's gaze sharpen - sense it like a touch upon her skin - but she turned away, hugging her arms against her torso. The door opened and closed a moment later, leaving Kyren to continue her pacing in the empty chamber.

To her absolute shock, he returned after a short time had passed, an army of servants in his wake. They placed a heavy table near the torch, setting it with plates, utensils, and food while others added two chairs. A serving girl offered Kyren a bowl of water and a cloth with which to clean her face and hands while another girl whisked away the bucket Kyren had been provided for a chamber pot. A young man set up an array of candles to add to the light and detract whatever smell possible from the cell. Kyren watched the hubbub with bewilderment, but did not make a sound, terrified of inadvertently halting the process.

As the last of the servants left the cell - and the door swung closed with a firm _thud!_ \- Jaime offered her his arm. "Will you join me?"

Kyren paused, staring up at him warily. "Do you vow that you did not have me imprisoned?"

He pressed his flesh-and-blood hand over his heart. "I vow, on pain of everything and everyone I love, that I am not the one who ordered you imprisoned."

She accepted his escort, looping her arm through his and allowing her fingers to rest lightly on the molded gold of his new right hand. He moved to his own chair only after tucking hers under the edge of the table and watched her over the food-laden plates and full cups of wine. The scene was unbearably intimate and Kyren felt an irrepressible urge to make conversation if only to serve as a distraction.

"If you did not have me brought here, who did?"

"Likely Cersei," he said casually and Kyren stiffened in her cushioned chair. "If I discovered your whereabouts, she could easily have done so as well."

"Do you know of her intentions for me?"

Jaime snorted, engrossed in his chicken - which, Kyren noticed, had been neatly sliced into cubes for easy consumption. "I did not know you were here until this very evening."

"This evening?"

He glanced up at that, a half-smile playing around his mouth and laughter in his eyes. "This evening, only minutes before I came in. Took me some time to discover which cell you were hidden in."

Kyren could not prevent a soft smile of her own at that, but quickly turned back to matters of greater importance. "The Starks are no longer a threat. What could she possibly want with someone once aligned with them? Other than my head, I suppose."

"Do not," Jaime commanded lowly. She met his intense gaze and he shook his head slowly. "I would not stand idly by while you are killed, even if it means acting against my queen. More likely than not, she simply wanted the chance to capture someone aligned with the Starks after we failed to seize Sansa Stark. She will play the role of magnanimous advisor and tell the king to release you."

"With luck, it will go better for me than it did for Ned Stark," Kyren remarked quietly.

"Cersei is not Joffrey, nor is Tommen."

"Unhappily, the shared family of parents means that no one person is to blame," Kyren said before she could prevent herself. Already having started, however, she met Jaime's eyes boldly - but not without sympathy. "There is madness in the line of Lannister. None of you are Joffrey exactly, but none are terribly far removed from him."

For a long moment, Kyren feared that she had overstepped herself as Jaime watched her with an unreadable expression, but he soon began to laugh. The knot in her stomach eased as he chortled out, "What a horrifying thought! Joffrey was mad, yes, but the rest of us are fairly able to see reason. You will be released from the Red Keep in only a matter of days."

Kyren had doubts but, drugged by his company and the flurry of small touches he scattered down her arms and hands, she remained silent.

* * *

Sleeping in the dungeons of the Red Keep was a difficult task. The noises of the castle, a slow drip of water, screams of captives driven mad by their isolation… When Kyren slept, it was lightly, ready to spring awake at the slightest sound. As such, she was upright and fully cognizant by the time the door closed behind Cersei's tall, slim figure.

Jaime's twin said nothing, merely stood surveying Kyren with a satisfied smile curving her lush lips. Rage bubbled deep in the pit of Kyren's stomach at the sight. "Lovely hair. Pity they did not remove your head at the same time."

"I could say the same, but it appears as though someone tried." Cersei's cool gaze found the scar on the side of Kyren's throat with ease.

"How did you find me?"

Cersei laughed mirthlessly. "Do you really believe that I would overlook your search for the little wolf's body? I've had spies in place for quite some time. They keep me well apprised of your progress - or shall I say the lack of the same? I know you went to Dorne with Jaime."

Kyren fell silent at that, her hatred of Cersei battling fiercely with her own morals and upbringing. "I am sorry for the death of your daughter. I care little for you, but Myrcella was good and sweet. Her loss is not one I take lightly."

"What a thing to say," Cersei mused aloud, an odd smile frozen on her face. "You must wonder why you still live. Simply put, Jaime has a fondness for you. I rather believe he thinks of you as a daughter."

Kyren choked on her laughter, but turned it to a cough, her mind running through her variety of experiences with Jaime, up to the meal they had shared in that very cell. He had run fingers across her cheek at several points, and the embrace in which he had crushed her before leaving was decidedly less than fatherly. "I do not believe that to be accurate."

Cersei's face hardened once more. "How would you know? You met him such a short time ago while I have known him even in our mother's womb. There is no one more perfect for him than I."

"Clearly," Kyren agreed dryly, hardly managing to keep from snorting indelicately as she did.

"I beg your pardon?" Cersei asked, voice brittle.

Kyren shrugged, secure in the knowledge that she would not die asking for forgiveness or pleading for mercy. "Aside from the problematic nature of your eldest child, I have heard the rumors surrounding your habits after your brother was captured by Robb Stark. He had scarcely been in chains for a week before your bed was warmed by another."

She did not move as Cersei approached. It had been a calculated risk to speak so to Cersei Lannister. The woman in question struck Kyren's face, wicked rings bruising the girl's cheek, but not cutting - not yet. "And what else have you heard about my habits?"

Smiling past the pain in her jaw, Kyren summarized, "Your lovers are nearly identical. Young, attractive, and - above all else - Lannisters. That is the difference between you and Jaime. He loves you because you offer scraps of affection. Your father cannot chase you away the way he and you both chase away everyone else who could pose a threat to your authority. You, however, love Jaime because he's a Lannister and Lannisters are better than everyone. I have no doubt that, were Tyrion graced with an average form, you would have had him as well."

The blow, when it landed, stung Kyren's uninjured cheek. "Anything else?" Cersei asked dangerously.

"Only that I find you utterly reprehensible," Kyren said sweetly.

"Such ugly words, spawned by such terrible hatred. Should I repay them in kind? My sources inform me that you've taken a lover. Shall I bring him here to die before you?" Kyren stiffened at the threat and Cersei tutted softly. "Pure no longer."

Kyren laughed and the sound was cutting. "I do not believe you are in any place to lecture on purity. Of the both of us, I have known but one man."

"Perhaps we shall repair that before your death," Cersei mused. "Ser Gregor?"

The door opened, swinging wide to admit a man nearly as large as the doorway itself. He strode inside gracelessly, leaving the door open. There was no need to block the exit with him standing in the way. He approached, a putrid scent wafting through the already-dank chamber.

Cersei smiled, her pale beauty perfect framed by the horror looming behind her. "This is Ser Gregor Clegane, known throughout Westeros as the Mountain. He serves me, obeys my every whim."

Kyren coughed, placing an arm over her nose and mouth. It did little to block the stench. Blinking the tears from her watering eyes, she responded with, "He is rotting."

Cersei contemplated that, moving to regard the beast before turning back to Kyren with a shrug. "He is a touch grey around the edges, but rest assured, he still retains a man's appetites."

Kyren returned Cersei's stare with an impassive one of her own - or, as impassive as she could manage. Cersei spoke over her shoulder. "What say you, Ser Gregor? Would she be an adequate prize to show my gratitude for your dedicated service?"

The Mountain nodded woodenly, no signs of life in the bloodshot eyes that had yet to leave Kyren.

Nodding once as though she had negotiated a complicated treaty, Cersei moved to the door. She paused only once to say, "Rest well, Kyren Asheworth. You shall be reunited with your beloved Starks in a matter of days."

Kyren watched with wide eyes as the Mountain lingered to continue staring before following Cersei, leaving only his scent and a horrible, chilling fear behind.

* * *

Author's Note \- Here's your monthly installment of this story! As always, I apologize that I'm unable to post with greater frequency. Thanks for reading, leave a review if you have a moment, and I'll see you next month! Have a great day!


	32. Chapter Thirty-One

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One

Kyren did not have much time remaining. She had heard the maids responsible for replacing torches tittering amongst themselves about the handsome Ser Jaime leaving King's Landing for the Riverlands. Every sound made her startle these days and the specter of the Mountain haunted her every dream. As time simultaneously seemed to stretch and disappear, Kyren began to fully understand why some prisoners of the Red Keep succumbed to madness.

At last came the day on which footsteps approached her door and halted. A fumbling came at the lock and Kyren straightened, ready to meet her fate with pride even as the abject fear curled in the pit of her stomach.

Bellin pulled the door open, her dress ill-fitting over the telltale rounded belly of pregnancy. Kyren stared. "Bellin, what are you doing here?"

"Follow me," she hissed, beckoning frantically. "And you'd best hurry if you wish to survive the day!"

Kyren obediently passed through the door, which Bellin locked carefully behind them. As they scurried through the bowels of the Red Keep, she asked, "Why are you helping me? Shana made it seem as though you helped to give me to Cersei."

"Of course I did nothing of the sort!" Bellin insisted, seeming shocked and offended. "Shana bears you ill will for hurting Tarik. When we all discovered that she had sold news of your location to the gold cloaks, we were furious! We had to deliver you from whatever horrible death the queen has planned for you."

"But why take such a risk? We scarcely knew each other." Though she knew it was less than wise, Kyren could not ignore that chattering casually with Bellin was helping her nerves during the jaunt through the Red Keep.

"You have never been anything but kind to each of us, Shana included. Besides, to break the rites of hospitality?" Bellin shook her head violently. "She invites the wrath of the Seven on us."

That answer, strangely enough, was enough to convince Kyren. Her faith in selfless deeds had taken a rapid decline as of late, but - even when they had lived in the same space - Bellin's faithfulness to the Seven had been strong to the point of superstition.

They moved through the castle in silence, keeping to abandoned corridors and hiding whenever a guard was present, especially one Kyren had known from her time spent traveling freely to and from the Red Keep. Such things seemed a lifetime ago rather than a handful of years.

Bellin kept to a rapid pace, even when her breaths came in rapid puffs from the exertion and Kyren urged her to slow. When they at last stepped onto the perpetually-damp streets of King's Landing in the wee hours of the morning, Kyren paused to take in the air, but Bellin tugged sharply at her arm. "We must keep moving! We are not yet safe!"

Kyren followed along willingly enough, but pulled herself free when she realized that Bellin was returning the two of them to Dyser's. "What are you thinking? I will not return there."

"Shana will not know you have returned," Bellin assured her, grasping her arm once more.

Kyren took several steps sideways, concealing them in the arched doorway of a nearby shop. "Bellin, I do not fear for my own safety, but that of Shana. If I am brought near her again, I fear I will take revenge for what she attempted to do to me. Your child will lack a grandmother."

"He has another," Bellin replied flippantly while Kyren burst out with a shocked laugh. "Kyren, Shana has sought to make me miserable from the moment Bracks and I announced our babe. She resents another mouth to feed and seeks revenge on Tarik for not choosing a wife who can labor in Dyser's as well. She has become nearly impossible to live alongside. I would allow you to take your revenge however you choose - and I believe Tarik and Bracks feel much the same - but we trust in your restraint that you would not seek to kill her."

Much as Kyren would like to argue otherwise, she knew that she would not truly end Shana's life, not when so many depended on her for their livelihood. "Very well," she sighed. "I shall return to Dyser's. Lead on, but know that I will endeavor to avoid her at all costs."

Bellin did not respond to that, but quickly brought them to Flea Bottom and Dyser's. The windows were dark, but they entered to find Bracks and Tarik waiting. Bracks immediately rose to wrap Bellin in a tight embrace. He berated her for foolishness and murmured his pride in the same breaths, pulling back to only search her over for harm. Tarik approached Kyren while she watched the reunion.

"Kyren, I am more sorry than I can say for what my mother did. I had no part in the information she passed to Cersei or her brother, I vow it on everything I am-"

"I know, Tarik," she assured. "I bear no ill will to anyone except Shana herself."

"Thank you," he said simply. "Here, I managed to save these for you."

He reached back to a small pile on a nearby table and handed it to her. Kyren smiled broadly. It appeared that Tarik had been able to secret away her corset and forearm sheaths, keeping them - along with all of her daggers - safe from discovery. There was still quite a bit missing, but all was replaceable but the daggers.

"I could not save all of it," he admitted, guilt on his handsome face. "My mother sold a great deal before I realized what she was doing."

"Thank you, Tarik," she said with a smile. "This is more than I thought possible."

"Here," Bracks said, offering a mid-sized sack that was filled with food when Kyren checked. "For your journey."

"Thank you," Kyren repeated. "Thank you for everything you've done to help me. I will not forget it. Is Sotam in the stables?"

"Most likely," Tarik affirmed. "I have no occasion to go inside, but I would assume he remains there still."

With another round of thanks and well-wishes, Kyren slipped out of the door and into the stables of the neighboring business. It took two rounds of checking before she was forced to admit that Sotam was not inside. Overwhelming sadness consumed her, followed rapidly by a blazing rage in the pit of her stomach.

With sure steps, Kyren strode back into Dyser's, allowing the door to strike the wall with a loud _slam!_ She stomped up the narrow staircase, ignoring the questions from the younger Dyser generation in favor of reaching Shana's room. She slammed that door open as well, her longest dagger already withdrawn from its sheath. Kyren knocked the small blade out of Shana's hand, already knowing that she would have been woken from the noise.

"Where is he?" she asked, holding the blade firmly against Shana's throat.

"I do not know who you could mean," Shana said, proudly jutting her chin. Kyren did not adjust the position of her blade to allow for the motion and Shana placed a shallow cut across her throat with her action.

"Sotam. My stallion. He is no longer in the stables where I left him. What have you done with him?" Each sentence was short, clipped, as Kyren bit them out with bared teeth.

"Go on, keep making noise," Shana invited. "With one call from me, guards will swarm down from the Red Keep. You will be arrested once more and executed as you should have been the first time."

"Mother, how can you say such things?" Tarik asked, horrified. Kyren realized dimly that they must have entered the room behind her, but would not risk looking away to make certain. "You offered Kyren hospitality."

"Fuck the Seven," Shana said with a laugh, sparking a gasp from Bellin. "If they will do nothing to prevent my family from being hurt, I will rectify the situation myself."

"You are a fool," Kyren snarled. "You've placed your son in danger by revealing the nature of our relationship to Cersei. She threatened to kill him as I watched in order to bring me pain."

Shana said nothing, but Kyren could see the color leach from her skin even in the dim light of the window.

Kyren shook her head. "Just return Sotam to me and I will leave. Your family will be safe so long as you do not repeat your foolish actions."

"I do not know where your stallion is," Shana revealed. "He was stolen from the stables some weeks ago."

She gritted her jaw and stepped back. "Very well, I shall find him myself. But betray me again and I will take your life."

"You will be too frightened to show your face in King's Landing again," Shana sneered with false bravery, but flinched violently when Kyren tossed her dagger to embed in the wood of the wall beside Shana's face.

Kyren leaned forward and tugged the blade free from the wall, fixing Shana with a coolly threatening stare as she did so. "I do not have to show my face to end your life."

With that, she left, resheathing the dagger and settling the bag of food more firmly over her shoulder as she went.

* * *

"Far too cheerful," Bronn muttered as he walked up to stand beside Jaime.

"I beg your pardon?" Jaime asked, knowing full well that the lighthearted satisfaction he felt must be showing on his face as he stared down at Riverrun.

"Never thought I'd miss the depressing, one-handed sister-fucker who haunted King's Landing, but now look at you."

"Careful," Jaime warned. Though his sister still held power through their recently-crowned son - and Jaime was not lacking in his own strength - there were dangers in openly speaking of the taboo relationship he and Cersei had once shared.

 _It had been years since she had willingly shared his bed…_

"There he is," Bronn crowed, slapping him on the shoulder. "Good to have you back."

Jaime shook off Bronn's hand with new irritation. "Go be certain the perimeter guards are alert. I want to be notified if anyone so much as looks at Riverrun. I have a siege to plan."

"Aye, m'lord," Bronn agreed sarcastically.

The Blackfish was a formidable enemy, Jaime could not deny it. The old man had come strolling down the ramparts of his castle as though it were a spring morning and he hadn't a care in the world, pausing only to invite the men waiting below to kill his nephew before continuing along his way. He was headstrong beyond reason and still Jaime could not prevent a lightness in his being.

This was a simple task, a quick jaunt away from King's Landing. It was a welcome departure from his troubles with Cersei. After all, any fool could run a siege with a collection of men the size of the Lannister army and Jaime was hardly a fool. Now that he had wrested command from the Frey men, this would likely turn into a short siege followed by commendations from the crown. Perhaps Bronn would even gain his castle from this victory…

The only obstacle that held any potential for making trouble was the Blackfish himself. He was stubborn, openly disdainful toward Jaime, and all-too-prepared to die in his attempt to defend Riverrun from Houses Frey and Lannister.

Perhaps more disconcertingly, his men were well-trained. Even during the parley between himself and the Blackfish, the Tully men had never wavered in keeping Jaime in the crosshairs of their bows. They obeyed every command the Blackfish issued and sought to determine what he would want next. That sort of loyalty could not be bought, or Jaime would have done so by now. Gods, what he could do with only a handful of men so loyal as those!

"Ser Jaime, we captured two outsiders attempting to breach the perimeter," a Lannister soldier informed him.

Jaime whirled about to face the man directly. "Bring them to my tent," he ordered tersely.

Only moments later, Jaime dragged his left hand down his face, taking a moment to massage his eyes. "What could possibly bring the two of you _here_?"

Brienne of Tarth frowned up at him. "We came to recruit the Blackfish to fight for Sansa Stark, as I told you before."

She had indeed told him so, but his luck could not possibly be so poor. "And why did she send you rather than anyone else?"

"I am sworn to serve-"

"I know!" he snapped, and she fell silent. Young squire Pod glanced back and forth between the two of them wordlessly. He had yet to speak. Jaime collapsed into a chair to stare at Brienne from a similar height and could not prevent the smile from stretching across his face. "You always seem to turn up in the oddest places, Brienne."

"I need to speak with the Blackfish," she answered.

"Yes, yes, you've said that," he responded absently. "I have had no success reasoning with the man. Perhaps you will."

He rose and the others rose with him. "Bronn?" he called, and when the knight answered, said, "Get word to the Blackfish that he has company of a more agreeable sort. When he understands and is less likely to behead them on sight, escort these two to the drawbridge."

"You do know I'm not actually your servant?" Bronn grumbled.

"I'm a Lannister," Jaime replied with a disarming grin. "I treat everyone as my servant."

Bronn groaned and led the way outside Jaime's tent, but Brienne stayed behind. "Ser Jaime, I wish to return your sword. It has served me well and fulfilled its purpose."

"It is yours," he refused. "Brienne, I gave you that sword as a recognition for being a commendable warrior undertaking a task I frankly assumed was impossible. I am glad you proved me to be mistaken." Her face softened and Jaime flashed a quick grin to keep her from forgetting just who - and what - he was. "Prove me wrong once more, will you? Convince the old man in that castle to leave and follow you north."

She nodded at him and left, following her squire to send a message to the Blackfish.

* * *

Jaime stood in a clearing, blinking in the bright sun, which was how he knew it was a dream. Westeros was blessed with few days of sun, even fewer during times of winter. Oddly enough, he recognized the clearing in question. It was just outside of King's Landing and he had never stopped there long enough to do anything more than dismount, take a piss, and ride away. However, it was most certainly the same place. Half a day's stroll from the very gates of the Red Keep, but far enough to be free of the bustle and stench of the city.

It was pleasant in the clearing, warm and filled with nature. Had Jaime a weapon, he could easily have collected game enough to eat well for several meals. And yet, weaponless and contented, he lay back in the grasses to stare up at the passing clouds.

There was no way of knowing how much time he spent in the small, peaceful sphere, but Jaime was soon brought lurching to his feet by a too-familiar croaking squawk. He had not heard a similar sound in a great length of time, but he knew beyond any logical reason that it had been the phoenix he dreamed of just before his hand was removed.

Abruptly, his heart was in his throat as he caught sight of the phoenix soaring overhead, far above the treetops. It seemed to be at the strongest point of its lifespan, the wind ruffling the bird's glossy grey feathers to reveal hints of their reddish bases. Jaime was too far away to see its bright yellow eyes, but from the direct route the bird was taking, he knew they would be fixed determinedly on a target of some kind.

But what could have caused the normally peaceful creature to behave in such a way? In all honesty, Jaime had not truly believed the phoenix capable of flight.

The bird began wheeling, arcing gracefully through the air to avoid the storm of arrows attempting to shoot it down. Every once in a while, a larger projectile would roar past, obviously slung by a trebuchet of some variety. The phoenix avoided these easily, but they distracted it from the arrows and Jaime feared more than once that it would be pierced by the wicked tips of the arrowheads.

More importantly, why did he care? There were no apparitions of the Seven to warn him that protecting Brienne should be a priority, the phoenix was not actively burning, and Jaime had been… admittedly, not devout, but far less horrible than he had been during his life before his capture.

Filtering through the trees, he heard a dim echo of a voice. _His_ voice, Jaime realized with a start.

" _After all, what is the worth of ash?"_

" _The fire burns and burns and we are what is left."_

The second voice belonged to Kyren, no mistaking it.

Flashes of memory seemed to overtake his mind then, moments with Kyren and the focus was always on her eyes. Her odd yellow eyes. He knew he had seen the phoenix's gaze before. And if his mind had somehow interpreted Kyren as the phoenix, was she under as strong an attack as the one in his dreams?

Jaime awoke quietly, filled with a determination that pushed out all the cheer of the past days. He had to return to King's Landing, and if that meant storming Riverrun, so be it. He owed nothing to these men, not the ones inside the castle nor the ones in the armies. He would sacrifice as many as necessary to end this mess.

As he dressed, Jaime could not prevent a frown at his bright golden armor with scarlet touches. It seemed garish and unnecessary next to the black leather armor worn by the Blackfish, but it was what he had. Jaime donned it with a grim realization: he would never be an honorable man, but he could use his dishonor to aid those he was closest to.

He strode from the tent and past the fire where Bronn sat drinking with a collection of Lannister and Frey soldiers. "Hey! Where are you going, then?"

"It is time I've had a chat with Edmure Tully," Jaime said darkly, never breaking his stride.

* * *

Kyren tossed away the rind of the cheese she had eaten to break her fast. It fluttered down, down, and further down until it at last hit the rough stone of the street. Her spying spot was on the uppermost floor of one of King's Landing's tallest buildings. She had commandeered the balcony by offering a single favor to the owner. He, unsurprisingly, had asked her to retrieve payment from some reluctant customers and she had done so with alacrity.

He had then asked her to stay on as his retriever of coin, an offer she was pretending to consider until she found what she was searching for.

Through careful rationing of the food given to her by the younger Dysers, she had most of the sack remaining and had been given a tip on where to find Sotam. She simply had to stake out this spot in order to wait for the man who had stolen him. By all reports, he visited King's Landing with some frequency and was due to make another appearance...

And _there_. Kyren's entire being thrilled with warmth at the sight of Sotam's familiar bearing and warmed more quickly with the heat of rage at the downtrodden way he pulled the cart behind him. It was heavily laden with metal goods and likely weighed a good bit more than should be leashed to a single animal, but Sotam was strong. There was something more at play.

Even as she watched, the man driving the cart shouted something at Sotam - she was too far away to hear details - and pulled his arm back. She was on her feet before the first stroke of the whip fell and had raced down the stairs and onto the street before he finished.

As he flicked the whip backward once more, she allowed it to wrap around her leather-protected arm before slicing it with a dagger. The man glanced behind him to see what the whip had gotten caught on and Kyren strode forward. "I believe you have something of mine."

"I have nothing that don't belong to me."

"Are you certain? My horse, perhaps?" She moved back around the cart to stand beside Sotam. Immediately, he snorted a welcome and nuzzled his large head against her chest. Kyren patted him and hummed absently while she watched the man turn purple with rage.

"Are you claimin' I'm a horse thief?"

"Return him to me and this need not go any farther. You can go along your business, sell your wares, and buy a new horse. You seem to have some talent." Indeed, the single small blade she had seen on the cart was a touch rough according to her high standards, but with effort…

"Get away from my horse, you lyin' whore!" he shouted, brandishing the half of his cloth whip still remaining. Scowling, he tossed it into the street in favor of one from his cart made of braided leather, much more difficult to sever.

Perhaps this could not be resolved peacefully. Pity. Kyren eased into a defensive stance as he pulled the whip over his shoulder and began shouting once more. A crowd had already gathered and his bellowing would do little more than attract guards. "Witless whore! I'll flay the skin from your back and then I'll do the same for the cursed beast beside you!"

If guards came, they would immediately place her under arrest in order for Cersei to plan an execution - but only after giving her to the Mountain. Kyren's jaw tensed. She could not allow that to happen.

It was a simple thing to vault up onto the wagon, a move that stunned the man too thoroughly to swing his weapon. Kyren did it for him. Her first lash caught him from shoulder to opposite hip and he screamed. The second snaked over his shoulder blade and tore up to flick around his throat and he screamed louder. The last one caught his lower lip, quite by accident. A whip was an unruly weapon, Kyren was discovering, and she felt a flash of admiration for Nymeria Sand. In any case, the whip caught his lower lip and clipped the lobe of an ear.

As he screamed, sobbed, and babbled incoherently, Kyren efficiently detached Sotam from the wagon and rode away, but only after plucking the ill-balanced dagger from the man's stock and tucking it into her pack.

* * *

Author's Note \- Kyren tries to be fair, but she seems to lose all sense of reason when someone or something she loves is at risk. Thanks for reading, no reviews to mention but I'm hopeful for this chapter! I'll see you all some time in October. Have a great day!


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two

"I'm sorry, but what you ask is impossible," the captain told her. At least it sounded as though the man were being sincere, but Kyren could not accept his answer. After all, she had yet to leave Sotam behind permanently and she had no intentions to begin now.

"Why is this impossible? I will load him on and off your ship myself and he remains on the top deck throughout our short voyage."

"Yes, the voyage is short, but I've yet to see a horse remain calm on a ship for four days."

Kyren sighed. "Sotam has sailed to Essos and back. I think he can handle a single voyage from Gulltown to Ram's Gate."

"Essos?" the captain asked, frowning over at where Sotam stood cropping the grass near the entrance to the port. He appeared to be considering his options, but Kyren had very little faith in allowing things to run their course.

"I will raise my offer another Stag."

"Very well. We depart at dawn, Have your beast loaded on my ship by then or expect to be left behind." The captain pocketed her money, gave a solemn nod, and moved back toward his ship.

Kyren patted Sotam's side as she walked to him once more. When they had left King's Landing some weeks before, she had been concerned. Enterprising Shana had not only sold Kyren's belongings, but also confiscated all the coin she had managed to amass. However, the thief who had stolen Sotam had unwisely chosen to place his purse in the saddlebags that he still wore. His work may have lacked craftsmanship, but the man seemed to have been a success if she were to judge by his wealth. Or he had simply stolen all of his wares, which was also a possibility.

They traveled into the marketplace, a bustling area of Gulltown. Kyren bought enough food for Sotam to survive the trip and few provisions for herself, strategically paying a bit more than asked to ensure the discretion of the shop owners. She bought some clothing as well. Years spent in warmer climates had depleted her wardrobe of anything warm enough to be worn in the North during a winter.

Fully outfitted and having enjoyed a final meal on land, Kyren returned to the docks. To avoid any question of departure time, she had decided that they would spend the night before the start of the voyage sleeping on the ship. Loading Sotam onto the ship was simplicity itself. Their many voyages meant that he had grown comfortable walking up the narrow planks of the gangway onto a deck, even the deck of a small passenger ship such as this one.

Once he was settled, Kyren moved into the ship's belly to find the small cabin she would be sharing with the two other females on this voyage. She dreaded the lack of privacy that was promised, but at least she would be bunking with females and would have little need to sleep in full awareness in the case of some attack or another.

At dawn, Kyren woke as if she had planned to do so and moved above decks to watch Gulltown grow steadily smaller as they sailed out into the Shivering Sea. As she leaned out over the rail of the ship, she fought to calm the wild pounding of her heart.

Kyren was too practical and had faced too much to believe in such silly things as curses. However, the last few voyages she had made over water were less than ideal. She had unwittingly traveled to Essos in the company of some sort of assassin, she had almost been kidnapped by pirates and sold into slavery, her return to Westeros had been wracked by a fever so harsh that the crew had considered throwing her overboard to avoid a plague, and her voyage to Dorne had borne witness to Myrcella's death and had ended in Kyren's capture by Cersei.

No, she did not believe in curses, but Kyren breathed a soft prayer to the Seven for an easy journey and eagerly awaited the end of the voyage.

* * *

Jaime did not believe in anything so childish as curses. After all the horrible things he had experienced in his life, he knew that people who suffer suffered while those who tormented them were likely to end up better off than before. The Seven had little sense of justice in his opinion, though it was one he did not care to voice aloud.

No, he did not believe in curses, but Jaime breathed a soft prayer to the Seven for strength as he watched the crown rest gently on Cersei's shorn golden hair.

In a moment, he was transported back to when he was a youth, watching the Mad King devolve further and further into his delusions until he saw enemies every which way he turned. Enemies he had decided must be burnt to death. He hadn't yet discovered what had led to Cersei's coronation, but he had passed the still-smoldering remains of the Sept of Baelor.

Despite the length of time that had passed, he had never forgotten the smell of bodies burning…

"In light of the terrible tragedies that have wracked our city and the threats of approaching dangers from over the narrow sea, we are grateful for the steadfast strength of our queen," Qyburn proclaimed, addressing that crowd that stood before Cersei. The Hand's badge was prominent on his thin chest. "She has chosen to address us all even in this time of personal hardship for her family."

Cersei stood, a richly-embroidered dress wrapping the curves of her slight body. The lions that roared at each other across her breast were wrought in golden thread, stark against the black fabric and drawing the eye to the golden crown atop her head.

"I have heard the whispers, my people. There are those who seek to steal our peace, our prosperity. They would harm us if given the chance. I do not intend to allow them that chance. Together, we will stand tall and strong. We will repel all invaders, all outsiders who wish to come against the great Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Those who ask protection and seek serenity will be allowed shelter beneath our broad protection. Those who intend violence will be met with violence such that they have never imagined. We are Westeros and we will not be threatened."

She allowed the silence to ring after the conclusion of her speech, her graceful hands clasped serenely. The gathered people were quiet as well, seeming either cowed or in awe, Jaime could not quite decide which. When the first cheer rent the air, he knew that she had won them over.

Cersei inclined her head as if accepting the adoration as her due and returned to her seat on the Iron Throne. She did not sprawl as Robert and Joffrey had done, nor did she sit as though afraid to touch the dragonfire-melted blades behind her as Tommen had. Instead, she graced the throne with all the confidence and natural power as one who had been born to the title, flanked on one side by Qyburn and the Mountain on the other.

She was at last where she had wanted to be, but Jaime could not fight back a feeling of unease. Too many questions still remained. He needed to speak with her, but first, there were other problems that needed to be solved.

He found Bronn in the depths of the Red Keep. The sellsword was grim, face drawn into more lines than Jaime could ever remember seeing.

"I'll warn you now, you won't like what I'm going to say."

Jaime sighed. "I know. Say it anyway."

"Her trial with the High Sparrow was intended to take place some days ago. She never appeared at the Sept and refused to allow the King to go, either. The next thing anyone knew, the Sept had exploded."

"Exploded?" Jaime asked, scarcely hearing his own question over the sound of his pounding heartbeat.

"Wildfire, apparently. Green flames."

Jaime felt as though he had taken a blow to the stomach. "Wildfire. How many dead?"

"Thousands," Bronn answered bluntly. "The Sept was full of people who wanted to watch the proceedings, the entire Faith Militant, not to mention the people in surrounding buildings that caught fire or collapsed. Some were crushed by falling rubble, others were trampled by the crowds-"

"Enough," Jaime ordered. "I understand completely."

"I don't think you do," Bronn told him. His eyes were… sympathetic, and it was enough to send chills throughout Jaime's body. "There was one person whose death was completely unrelated to the explosion: Tommen's."

Jaime had known Cersei being crowned boded ill for Tommen, but had held out hope that their son had abdicated after everything that happened. "Tommen? How?"

Bronn cleared his throat and avoided Jaime's gaze. "He was overcome with grief for his wife and guilt knowing that his mother had done such a thing. He- He jumped from his window."

"I need to see his tomb," Jaime said shortly, striding toward the crypts.

Bronn halted him as he passed, placing a hand against the center of Jaime's chest to hold him back. "That's the other thing…"

"A traitor to the crown?" Jaime thundered, stepping into the king's chambers - or, he supposed, the queen's.

"Who is a traitor to the crown?" Cersei asked, glancing at him with no surprise on her lovely face. She had known he was here. "Brynden Tully? We know very well he was. Your loyalty to Westeros is, as always, appreciated."

"Get out!" Jaime shouted to the room filled with advisors carrying maps and various documents.

They glanced at her, awaiting confirmation before obeying his command. A single nod from her sent them all scurrying.

"Now," she said coolly once the room was emptied of everyone except them, "What's all this about traitors? Why are you shouting at my advisors? We have a defense to plan."

"You declared our son a traitor to the crown," Jaime said through gritted teeth. "You decreed that he could not be buried in the crypt with his brother and sister. You would not even allow him a ceremony!"

Cersei's face hardened. "Tommen Baratheon _was_ a traitor to the crown and to the kingdom of Westeros."

"He was a Lannister," Jaime argued heatedly.

"No, somehow, he was a Baratheon. He allowed himself to be taken in by a religious charlatan, chose him and that little tart of a wife over his family. He does not deserve to rest beside his siblings."

"Tommen was good!"

" _Do not interrupt me!_ " Cersei snarled at him. "I am your queen, and you would do well to remember it. Tommen was spineless and his end reflected that. He was no son of mine and he will not share a crypt with our children and our father!"

"Cersei, think of what you say," Jaime urged, resting his hands on her shoulders - though she immediately shrugged off his golden appendage. "Our father was a greedy, grasping man. Myrcella was a young woman we hardly knew and Joffrey was mad. If anything, Tommen should not be buried in the same crypt because he at least tried to be good and just. He aimed higher than our family has ever attempted in the past."

"Do not speak of my children that way."

" _Your_ children?" Jaime asked. "Only yours? If I remember correctly, most of the troubles we've experienced over the past years have been because they are _our_ children. Cersei, people seek to divide the Lannisters any way they can. What better ammunition to give them than to leave the body of our son - the king - to rot in a pauper's grave?"

She turned away from him, staring from the window instead. Chills marched down Jaime's arms to see that she was studying the smoking remains of the Sept of Baelor. "Very well," she agreed at length. "Gather his body as best you can and have it placed in the crypt. Then I expect you to return here so we can strategize the defense of Westeros."

Jaime inclined his head and departed from the queen's chambers. Bronn had already revealed that Tommen's body had been dumped in the boneyards near the kingdom and Jaime had gathered up all that he recognized of his youngest son before visiting his sister. It had been grueling work and Jaime had vomited more than once before it was done. He had planned to bury Tommen in a private ceremony if he was refused a place in the crypt, but this was the better way. Tommen deserved to rest beside his siblings and grandfather.

Entombing Tommen had turned out to be a lengthy process, largely because Jamie could not stop weeping long enough to perform the ceremony that would commit Tommen's soul to the Seven. Under normal circumstances, it would not matter to Jaime, but this was his son, and if the rites were not properly performed, his place in the royal crypt could be dissented.

Bronn, oddly enough, served as a steadfast witness to the young king's burial. He stood watchful as Jaime repeated the words that fell so naturally from his tongue. There had been so many deaths of late that the rites had become hauntingly familiar. It seemed that Jon Arryn had died and death had never left King's Landing.

After the door to the royal crypt swung closed once more, Bronn said, "Thought you had to be a maester before those words mean anything?"

Jaime just shrugged and began the walk back up to the queen's chambers. He couldn't very well tell Bronn that he had met the Seven face-to-face and felt uniquely qualified to bid his son to their keeping.

At the foot of the long staircase that would lead back to Cersei, Bronn caught at Jaime's shoulder. "Hold on, you don't really intend to go back in there, do you?"

"I must," Jaime answered tonelessly. "The queen ordered me to return after burying Tommen so that we can begin to plan the defense of King's Landing."

"So, you buried her son and in return, you get to do her job and figure out how to keep the city safe from three fucking dragons?" Jaime didn't argue and Bronn shook his head in amazement. "That's a terrible bargain. You realize that, yeah?"

"I need to go," Jaime said, shaking Bronn's hand from his shoulder and starting up the stairs.

When he at last arrived at the top, Cersei was waiting for him in the map room. Her advisors had yet to return and she cradled a glass of wine in her hand. She smiled tenderly at him, their earlier argument seemingly forgotten.

"Come to me, Jaime," she said softly, holding a hand out in his direction. Jaime stepped closer and obligingly took it. She squeezed his fingers and ran her eyes over the map beneath their feet. "It's all ours. Every bit of land, every holdfast, every person in Westeros. They belong to us."

"For now," he pointed out.

"Forever," she countered. "We have reached the peak of the mountain. We are untouchable. A Lannister dynasty, one which never needs to end."

Jaime swallowed harshly. They could not possibly be a dynasty; they were lacking another generation. It wasn't until Cersei began easing closer to his face, her gaze rapt on his mouth, that he realized that she intended to create a solution to that problem as well. His judgement screamed for him to move away, but he paid no attention.

Cersei's lips were soft and warm, lushly inviting him deeper. Her kiss was sweet, drugging, and Jaime had the abrupt realization that there were only two directions he could go from here: he could continue this course, falling back into his familiar relationship with Cersei, sire a child with her, and perhaps she could amend the laws so that they could live together openly - people could judge them only in cruel whispers, easily disregarded. Or he could stop this. Jaime could break off this contact and move away from this madness. He could start fresh elsewhere. He had already suffered for the relationship between them, his golden hand was a constant witness to that fact.

But still, this was _Cersei_ , his first love, his best friend, the mother of his children.

Groaning, Jaime game himself over to the kiss, pulling her closer with one hand while he cradled her jaw with the other. Just as he had decided that whatever wrath the Seven had in store for him was worth it, Cersei pushed him away, glaring as she panted.

"What is it?" he asked breathlessly.

"Do not touch me with that," she hissed, pointing delicately at his golden hand.

"Do not- You cannot be serious, Cersei!"

"I certainly am. I do not care for the reminder that you are no longer whole."

Jaime gaped at her, aghast. "I lost my hand trying to get back to you!"

"Do you really think I didn't order Roose Bolton to tell me exactly what his men say happened on that night? I know you lost your hand trying to protect that hideous giantess."

With a disbelieving laugh, Jaime said, "You are angry with me because I lost my hand trying to protect an innocent woman from being raped?"

Cersei's emerald eyes grew even colder than before. "She had sworn herself to the service of the Starks, traitors to the crown. If they could not protect her, she deserved what they would have done."

Jaime stared in horrified silence and Cersei smoothed her dress with a frustrated sigh. Fixing him with her most alluring smile, she stepped closer once more. "I did not ask you here to argue."

"Right. You wanted to coordinate the defense of King's Landing."

"Jaime…"

He smiled charmingly at her. "It is best we get started."

She stared at him a moment longer before returning her attention to the map. "Enemies rise against us on all sides."

"Yes, nothing attracts foes so well as new power."

Jaime was conceding her point, but Cersei still glared fiercely at his interruption. "I need you to go take care of one of our new enemies: Olenna Tyrell."

"Olenna Tyrell," Jaime repeated, frowning at her. "You want me to bring an army against Highgarden, one of the most fortified and defensible castles in all of Westeros, all to execute a woman who would likely have died within weeks due to old age and grief?"

"Yes."

The simple answer was not what he hoped to have heard. "Is there any particular reason why I am the one you are sending?"

"You are a talented swordsman, a well-regarded strategist, and - quite frankly - I cannot stand the sight of you at the moment. I trust you to complete the task and I need you far from me."

"I understand," Jaime said, not without regret. However, if Cersei insisted that she needed a man who was whole rather than Jaime with his missing hand, there was little he could do to convince her otherwise and he owed it to himself not to try.

"Very well," he summarized. "I shall muster an army and begin plans for our travel to the Reach. We will likely leave within days."

"I expect I shan't see you before then?" Despite the question in her tone, Cersei's expression made it clear that this was a warning, not a query.

"Doubtful," he returned. With a final bow, he offered, "My queen."

Cersei said nothing further as he left the map room and Jaime fought back a wave of disappointment and hopelessness.

* * *

Kyren stared up past the sails into the night sky. The Shivering Sea was daunting and the impending winter made the air sting her nose as she breathed and she huddled close to Sotam for warmth, but the view of the stars was worth any discomfort. She could see every constellation above Westeros. Though many of them were unfamiliar to her, it still gave Kyren a sense of awe and humility, a true glimpse at the wonders of the world.

Despite the misgivings she still held concerning her past with ship voyages, Kyren could admit that she was beginning to feel a touch of optimism. If things all went to plan, she could be at Winterfell in as little as a week. It was dangerous to place one's happiness in the memory of a place from a different time in her life, but Kyren could not deny that she hoped the find the peace that had eluded her through the past years inside Winterfell's gates.

"It's gettin' late, miss," a sailor told her as he walked past. "Too cold for a little thing like you out here. Need any help carin' for that beast of yours?"

"Not tonight, thank you," Kyren refused politely. This sailor seemed enamored by the stallion, even tolerating his harsh bites with a chuckle and admiration of Sotam's pride. Lovingly, Kyren tucked a thick blanket over Sotam's back and haunches, threading the saddlebags through slits she had cut. Their weight seemed a comfort to the stallion and helped prevent the blanket from being taken by the wind.

Bestowing a pat on Sotam's neck, Kyren retired to her cabin. The other two women knew each other as they were traveling in the same party and spent the grand majority of their time tucked in the stale room. Both were asleep when Kyren stepped quietly through the door and neither awoke as she settled into her bunk.

In the early hours of the morning, Kyren woke to the ship gaining speed and abruptly slowing. She was alert in moments, on her feet before the sound of unfamiliar boots hitting the deck above their heads rattled down through the wood.

Surely even her luck wasn't so bad as to have two separate voyages taken over by pirates?

When an unfamiliar gentleman came to retrieve the females from their cabin, Kyren took stock of the mismatched and ill-fitting clothes, his long beard, sun-tanned skin, and the smell that rolled from him. Pirates. As she followed the others from the room - both were weeping - she clenched her jaw. She had dealt with pirates far more fearsome than these before. Granted, she had no staff and no allies on this ship, but she had been victorious in Essos and she would be here, especially with her full collection of daggers hidden on her person.

However, when she reached the deck, there was no arguing or fighting. Instead, the kindly captain of the boat was tied to its main mast while the crew was contained toward one side of the deck, guarded by a pirate with a sword in each hand.

Very well. If they did not wish to fight for their freedom, Kyren would not force it, but would remain on guard in case it appeared anyone would be injured or killed.

The pirate captain stood before all the passengers of the ship and sketched an extravagant bow. It was nothing compared to Jaime when he got going, but everyone who had not been treated to that sight buzzed with admiration. "I am Captain Salladhor Saan. I will need to know who I have detained here, but fear not. I am in search of riches, not lives. You shall all live to sail away so long as no one attempts anything… heroic."

The passengers revealed their identities to Saan as he walked down the line, greeting them all by name with pleasantries as though he were hosting a feast rather than threatening their lives. Kyren inwardly despaired of their easily-charmed nature.

"And you, my lady?" he asked when he reached Kyren.

"No lady, I'm afraid. Alis Waters."

"Waters?" Kyren nodded, but he shook his head and studied her. "Are you certain? You appear much more likely to be a Snow."

"No, Ser. I have never been further north than Gulltown." The lies came easily to Kyren, but Saan seemed unconvinced.

Addressing the gathered passengers, he said, "My most trusted men will accompany you back to your quarters. Please turn your valuables over to them and no one need be injured. We are all reasonable people. What are trinkets in exchange for your safety?"

When Kyren started down toward the cabins once more, Saan shook his head. "Not you. You will gather all of your belongings and join my crew."

Kyren gave a disbelieving laugh. "And why would I ever do such a thing?"

"Because you have no other option. You may be an illegitimate Westerosi girl traveling north for the first time, but you also match a description sent out by an old friend of mine. I shall keep you with me until I can send a raven to discover if you are the one he seeks."

Kyren's heart dropped. What if it was someone who reported to Cersei? She would be directly back where she started after giving up so much. "Who is your friend?"

"That is information you have no need of," Saan responded pleasantly.

"And if I am not who he is searching for?" she pressed. "Surely you do not intend to release me?"

He pursed his lips in thought. "It is bad luck to release anyone who has seen the inside of a pirate's ship."

"Precisely," Kyren agreed, shocking the man if she was to go by the motion of his brows. "If the information will go no further than me, why should you not tell me? Perhaps I can save you the time."

Saan regarded her thoughtfully, but eventually came to a conclusion and revealed, "His name is Davos Seaworth."

Kyren smiled and readied herself for a struggle. There would be only a moment between her denial and the moment the pirates attempted to kill her. She would have to injure as many as possible before making her escape, and even then, it would be a long swim to shore, but she would not die like this. The real trick would be forcing Sotam into the water as well.

Before she could make her denial, Saan added, "Of late, he works with a man by the name of Jon Snow."

Kyren was far too shocked to control her facial expression and Saan nodded as though she had confirmed his suspicions. "As I said, you will accompany us until I can send a raven and receive confirmation. I will need your true name."

"I will gladly tell you so long as you will allow me to bring my stallion along." She gestured to Sotam and Saan began laughing.

"Very well. If you can coax him onto my ship, he is welcome to join us." He leaned closer. "And your name?"

After a fortifying breath - an unwise decision around the reek of pirates - she revealed, "Kyren Asheworth."

Saan grinned broadly. "Welcome aboard, Kyren."

* * *

Author's Note \- Poor Kyren, forever being captured by pirates. I will say that this particular run-in has been planned from the beginning while Kyren's experience with Captain Zha was more of a spur of the moment decision for me. Also, poor Jaime, I guess? He's kind of created his own problems throughout the series, but it always sucks to realize that someone you love isn't who you thought they were.

Anyway! Thanks for reading, please, please, _please_ leave a review (I know we're all disappointed in the finale, but I'm starting to feel like I'm shouting into a void, here!), and have a great day! Happy Halloween, too!


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three

"I have wonderful news, my lady," Salladhor Saan revealed, approaching loudly from behind her. Kyren had taught the first few pirates the dangers of trying to catch her unawares.

Her temper got the best of her as she snipped, "You've decided to listen to me and turn north once more?"

He waggled a finger and tsked at her. "Do not be impolite, my lady."

"I am not a lady, Saan. I am uncertain why you persist-"

"Because you are loved by Jon Snow. He has sent word through Davos that you are not to be touched or injured under any circumstances or an army of wildlings will descend upon us." Saan smirked. "I wrote back my promise that you will be unmolested here, but also included the suggestion that we are more frightened of you than the opposite."

Kyren _almost_ smiled at that, but had to ask, "When are we to meet with him?"

"We are not to meet with him, Lady Kyren. I was here in the north only as a favor to Davos. Now that I have assisted in locating you, my men and I will go sail the coasts of Essos."

"And what am I to do? Dive overboard and swim to shore?"

"No, of course not! I will deliver you to Widow's Watch and send one of my most trusted men to accompany you as you make your way to Winterfell. Jon Snow awaits you there." Saan's tone was one of generosity, but Kyren knew that this route meant he would not take them further north. He could have delivered them closer, or even to Ramsgate - Kyren's original destination - but he appeared intent on leaving Westeros as quickly as possible.

"I wonder…" Kyren had been speaking more to herself than to the smuggler-turned-pirate, but Saan stopped and regarded her with politely raised eyebrows. "I wonder what is so important that you hurry off to Essos."

Saan's air of fatherly indulgence dropped in a heartbeat. "I do not reveal my plans to any other than a trusted few, but if you are truly destined for Winterfell, I feel that you deserve the warning: Westeros will be quite a dangerous place very shortly. This winter is different, wrong."

"Are you speaking of the queen?" Kyren asked breathlessly. The shadow of Cersei Lannister seemed to hang long over the entirety of Westeros.

"Something much bigger than a power-hungry Lannister," he told her. "Death descends from the north while the queen reaches from the south and Winterfell is caught in the middle. A dangerous place, but all of Westeros is in danger. My men and I are choosing to leave while we can, but you do not appear to have such an option. You must take care."

He stepped back, jovial once more. "Tychio!"

A pale man with dark eyebrows stepped closer, eyes piercing as they studied Kyren. "Yes, Captain?"

"You will accompany Lady Kyren from Widow's Watch to Winterfell. If you wish to rejoin my crew in Essos, I will be glad to accept you there."

Tychio nodded and ambled away. Saan turned back to Kyren. "I would gather your belongings if I were you. We will arrive at Widow's Watch in a short time. I trust you will unload your hellbeast without aid?"

He departed from the main deck before Kyren could answer, but there was little she could say. Sotam's temper had only increased with his age and he had made it a point to nip or kick at any of Saan's crew who made the mistake of stepping too close to his spot on the deck. Interestingly enough, the stallion had never attempted anything with Tychio, the close-lipped man who was to accompany her to Winterfell.

Kyren was less than thrilled by the prospect of traveling with a strange man, but they would have only a little more than a week to ride together before they reached Winterfell. Additionally, Kyren was well able to defend herself against any threat tall Tychio could offer.

If only she could shrug off the lingering sense of familiarity…

It was of little consequence. The things that were meant to happen would happen with or without her worrying. Perhaps, if nothing else, the conundrum of the strange pirate would aid Kyren in banishing the lingering thoughts of Jaime. She shook herself sharply and went to gather her meager belongings.

* * *

In a display of ill timing, Jaime was well on his way to being drunk in a King's Landing tavern. He was as recognizable as he had ever been, but rather than the Lannister name evoking a sense of wealth and power, it only tied him to a family of incestuous, power-mad rulers and dead children.

Even as he sat and watched with eyes beginning to glaze from over-consumption of ale, two men caught sight of Jaime and erupted into angry mutters. One grasped clumsily at the poorly-made sword strapped to his over-expanded waist and frowned fiercely. Jaime scoffed internally, reflecting that he would have killed the man in two strokes had he still been in possession of his sword hand, but in his current state… Well, he would perhaps earn the distinction of being the first Lannister to die in a seedy tavern.

Bronn strode through the door, slamming his shoulder into one of the men without pause. The man - having pulled his hand from his sword hilt in an attempt to keep from falling - shouted, "Oi, watch it!"

"Yeah, and or you'll do what?" Bronn asked almost lazily, though his posture thrummed with tension that said he was willing and able to defend himself if need be. "Eat my supper? Seems a true worry for a man of your girth."

"Fuck off, sellsword," the man grumbled as the patrons of the tavern chuckled openly.

"I see your wits are your sharpest weapon," Bronn said derisively and turned back to Jaime. "What're you doing? Drunk in a tavern when everyone knows who your sister is."

"Yes, but _I_ know who my sister is and that is why I am drunk in a tavern." Jaime toasted Bronn with his tankard and drank deeply, uncaring of the ale that trailed down one corner of his mouth.

"Gods, man, you're in a state." Despite the admonishment in his words, Bronn's tone was amused. "Here you've had me working like a dog gathering information while you've been tying one on in-" he paused to take a look around the tavern, pulling an impressed expression after a moment, "-in what honestly looks like a promising place for some trouble."

"You chased away the only trouble I've managed to find," Jaime accused, shocked and appalled by the hint of a slur in his voice.

Bronn easily caught the hint of Jaime's senses devolving further and snatched the tankard away from him. In his slightly-drunken stupor, Jaime allowed it to happen, though he immediately missed the comforting numbness offered by the ale. He eyed it's new place, plotting to retrieve his comfort as soon as the room stopped swaying, but Bronn drained the tankard and handed it back to a passing tavern maid. "No more for us, love. He'll be settling his tab now."

Jaime grimaced at the news of his impending departure from the tavern. "Don't make that face," Bronn ordered. "If you get drunk in public, I have to be on guard and if I'm in a tavern, I'm drinking. It's not safe."

"Why, Bronn, I didn't know you cared," Jaime mocked, slumped forward to rest his elbows on the table's scarred surface.

"I don't give a shit about you, but you're the ticket to my wife and castle." Jaime had no response, but Bronn leaned forward to speak into his face. "Remember that deal, Lannister? I risk my life helping you and you give me a huge castle, a beautiful wife, and a respectable chunk of your golden mountain?"

"Yes, yes. I remember," Jaime waved him off.

"I don't think you do," Bronn grumbled. "Come on, golden lion. You've an appointment with your chamber pot coming soon rather than later."

Jaime sulked to his feet and followed Bronn from the tavern. He continued to follow Bronn's predatory stride until they reached the outer gates of the Red Keep, then he turned sharply away.

"I won't go back there. Not yet, anyway. I am entirely too sober for that."

Bronn groaned and surveyed Jaime with a hint of irritation, but gamely followed him back down a deserted side street twisting through the underbelly of King's Landing. "What the fuck is so wrong with going back to a castle? Too comfortable for you? Too warm? Too much food inside?"

"Cersei is there."

"An excellent point," Bronn conceded, handing over a flask Jaime hadn't known of. "Though it's never stopped you before. I thought that's why we had to hurry back from the Riverlands?"

"Not precisely," Jaime hedged.

"Well, out with it! You've been in a right foul mood since the night Brienne and Pod showed up and it's starting to wear thin."

With a deep swig of the flask, Jaime said, "I believe Cersei intended to harm Kyren. If she had not escape, she might have been dead before our return."

After a brief moment of quiet, Bronn gave a harsh guffaw. "You 'believe'? I know you're no match for your brother, but anyone who knows your sister could say with certainty that she intended to kill Kyren, out and out."

"And you said nothing?" Jaime asked, the beginnings of a new anger stirring in his gut. He already loathed himself for his blindness where Cersei was concerned, but Bronn held no such partiality to her. "You would have condemned an innocent young girl to death?"

"Lannister, Kyren is no young girl. She is a fully-grown woman. I don't know if it's escaped your notice, but she must be nearing five and twenty by now. And she's proven well capable of handling herself, even against someone like your sister."

"She was locked in a dungeon!"

"And she escaped," Bronn replied with a shrug.

"Your heartlessness is an inspiration," Jaime said dryly. "I should have helped her."

"Maybe, or that might have just made Cersei hate her more. She's jealous of your attention."

Jaime sighed irritably. "I am well aware. You can see, then, why I am not yet ready to return to the Red Keep."

"It's a big castle. Maybe you won't even see her."

"I will see her," Jaime's voice was bitter. "I always see her. She is forever creating reasons for me to look and know that she's out of my reach."

"Women are cruel."

"And yet she does not seem to realize that I may not wish to reach her anymore." The alcohol had loosed Jaime's tongue and the words refused to stop pouring from his mouth. "I grow tired of forever chasing someone who claims to love me only to pull away at the last moment."

"Dangerous words."

Jaime laughed abruptly, catching Bronn's full attention for the first time in several minutes. "Have you not heard, Bronn? These are dangerous times. The Lannisters have alienated almost every ally we have, our enemies conspire against us, and all intelligence states that the Targaryen girl intends to invade King's Landing at first opportunity. Life grows shorter every day and I have not the time to spend with those who do not care for me."

Bronn, looking deeply uncomfortable at this point, brought Jaime to a halt with a gentle tug on his elbow. "Come now, Lord Lannister. These grand declarations shouldn't be made to all of King's Landing. Ready to go back now?"

Heaving a sigh, Jaime agreed. "Very well. Back to the Red Keep we go."

Along the way, Jaime's thoughts were filled with Kyren. Had she struggled to escape? How had she managed it? Was she safe now? He doubted it. The most he could hope for was that she was far away from Westeros and traveling further every moment.

* * *

Tychio was quiet. Kyren herself wasn't prone to chatter when she had nothing to say, but the thin pirate had yet to say a word since they departed from Saan's ship. She had only heard him speak once, when purchasing a horse for himself. There was no conversation about routes, either. Neither hesitated about the path they would take to Winterfell. Kyren knew these roads well from her travels with Maester Luwin and Tychio seemed familiar with the area as well. Too familiar.

Left without another source of diversion, Kyren's attention turned to Tychio himself. The man was mysterious and she had the distinct feeling that something was wrong. It seemed mad even in her own mind, but Kyren had learned to trust her instincts, and they were screaming.

Tychio was pale-skinned, extremely so. Such a thing was not uncommon, especially in this part of Westeros, but for a pirate who spent his days outside with little shade, it seemed odd. His dark hair and thick eyebrows were not a northern trait, either. No, most northerners had fair or red hair and it tended to be on the thin side. Tychio's looks were far more common in Essos, particularly the middle of the continent. Kyren had seen similar traits on the slavers who had tried to purchase her and her shipmates from Captain Zha. But if a man from the middle of Essos wished to make a life in piracy, why would he not become a river pirate rather than one roaming the Narrow Sea?

More concerningly, how did an Essosian pirate come to be so familiar with the roads and paths of Westeros around the area of Winterfell? Pirates had not successfully invaded the interior of the North in recorded history, other than the underhanded attack by Theon Greyjoy. And Tychio most certainly did not look as though he were from the Iron Islands.

Kyren slept poorly on the nights of their journey, half-awake in preparation for any moves of betrayal from Tychio, but none were ever made. On the fifth day of their travels, she spied something odd on the corner of his jaw and spent the majority of the morning in quiet contemplation.

Just after they had finished eating a meager midday meal in the saddle, Kyren was at last ready to confront the odd man about what she had been considering.

"What brings you to Westeros?" Kyren asked. Her voice sounded rusty and thin from disuse.

"A ship," Tychio responded simply.

"Not a god?"

Tychio stiffened in the saddle. "Perhaps."

"That is a rather vague answer."

"It was a vague question."

"Then allow me to be more blunt," Kyren offered. "Your skin is falling off at the jaw. It bounces with every step your horse takes."

One hand flew to the offending fold of skin and he gave a rueful grin. "Faces are not meant to be worn so long."

"I would assume not," Kyren agreed with a small smile of her own. "What brings you back to Westeros?"

"A man has certain interests in the area," he said cryptically.

"Interests? I believed you to have no interests, excepting wearing the faces of strangers while you kill other strangers for money." Kyren paused for a moment. "And do you intend to remove that particular face in the near future? It does look a little worse for wear."

Jaqen peeled the face from his own, staring down at it mournfully. "Ah, but a disguise requires such a great amount of time to be ready." He shrugged, tucking the thin flap of skin into a pocket. "A man can do nothing for it, however."

Kyren shuddered. "Well, a woman will be sick at the thought of you carrying that!"

He paused, giving her an unreadable smile. "Would a woman prefer to carry it herself?"

"What a clever jest," she said dryly. "But you avoid my question. What are these interests in Westeros?"

Jaqen's eyes grew guarded. "A girl - a faceless girl - who trained with a man to serve the Many-Faced God," he said haltingly. "He is not done with a girl yet."

Kyren frowned at the land in front of their horses. If only she knew the identity of Jaquen's interest, she would give the poor thing a warning. His attention boded ill for most, especially one who had been trained and left. _Though_ , she admitted internally, _if she was trained by this man, she likely would not need my aid._

"And if a man was in the right place to assist his old acquaintance, the Many-Faced God must have meant it to happen," he added, interrupting her thoughts.

"Ah, so the Many-Faced God remember me?" Kyren asked teasingly.

"The Many-Faced God knows all and remembers all."

"Of course he does." Silence fell then, but it was comfortable rather than suspicious, as it had been during their journey thus far. "You do not have to continue on to Winterfell if your god asks you elsewhere."

"A man has said that he would accompany a woman to Winterfell and so he shall," Jaqen denied easily. "A woman has many stories to tell. It seems that much has befallen her since she departed Braavos."

For the first time, Kyren caught on to the fact that he no longer referred to her as 'girl'. "A woman is me, then? Am I a girl no longer?"

"A woman insisted that her experiences are more important than her ability to bear life. A man agrees."

Kyren kept her gaze focused on the snow-crusted road ahead, but she could feel his eyes tracing the scar along her neck. "I have a few stories, yes. Enough to last until we arrive at Winterfell. We are close."

Fortunately, the remainder of their journey passed quickly, in shared stories and the occasional companionable silence. Before the sun fell below the horizon, they had arrived at Winterfell.

Kyren had been waiting to return since she had left nearly seven years prior, a fact she attributed as the main cause of the tears blurring her vision as she surveyed the achingly familiar castle. Jaqen remained silent as he waited for her to collect herself.

As they passed through the near-silent town just outside the walls of Winterfell, Jaqen spoke. "A man has accompanied a woman as far as he can."

"Where will you go?"

"The Many-Faced God has told a man to be here, but the one he seeks still journeys. He will wait here."

"Find someplace to stay," Kyren advised. "Winter is here."

He nodded, but before he turned away, she added, "I would choose a face and keep wearing it, if I were you. These people do not take kindly to anything different from what they know."

"A man is thankful for the advice," he murmured before melting away into the growing darkness. Kyren could not hear the sound of his horse's hooves against the ground as he went and she wondered if she had made the right decision in allowing him to join her. However, the sun had set completely and the moon would not rise for hours yet. Kyren had to arrive at Winterfell soon and had no time to spare wondering about the enigmatic man.

When she approached Winterfell's imposing gates, Kyren was stopped by several guards. It came as little shock that she did not recognize any of the men. "Who goes there?"

"Kyren Asheworth," she called with false confidence.

"It's a woman!"

"What's she doing out alone?"

"Could be a trick."

"Best take her to Seaworth."

Kyren was ordered to dismount and Sotam's lead was grabbed by a soldier before Kyren could warm him against it. One rather vicious bite later, Kyren was the one guiding Sotam inside Winterfell's gates. They stopped just inside and an older gentleman approached.

"Hello," he said kindly in a gentle burr. "My name is Davos Seaworth. Who do I have the honor of addressing?"

"I will gladly give you my name, Ser, but first, you have the opportunity to settle a question in my mind. Have you truly been in correspondence with a gentleman by the name of Salladhor Saan?"

The man peered at her with a gaze gone much sharper than before. At length, he said, "I have."

Kyren nodded once. "Then I believe you already know my name. Kyren Asheworth."

"Well, my lady, it is a pleasure to have you safely arrived! You must come into the warmth."

"I must care for Sotam first," Kyren explained, gesturing toward where the stallion stood waiting patiently.

"I'll have one of the boys take care of him, my lady. Apologies, but the cold is too much for these brittle old bones."

Now it was Kyren's turn to study him. Davos Seaworth was an older gentleman, that much was true, but she had little doubt that he could take care of himself quite handily. Still, rather than argue over something that would make little difference, Kyren nodded and removed her sword and scabbard from Sotam's saddle. "Thank you for your kindness, ser, but I am no lady."

"My apologies, but with a mind of my advanced years, it's safer to call every woman I meet 'lady'."

Kyren chuckled a bit at his neat side-step of her request. "Very well. I shall follow you."

"Wonderful!" He took off with alacrity, summoning a stable boy with a sharp whistle and a copper penny placed subtly in the boy's hand. The boy ran off toward Sotam.

"He bites!" Kyren called in warning and the boy nodded, slowing before he reached the stallion to approach respectfully, bribing Sotam with a handful of oats.

Seaworth began walking once more, but paused only a moment later. "Is it true that you nearly knocked one of Salladhor's men overboard?

"He grabbed me," she explained simply.

Seaworth nodded as though this were explanation enough. "Then he's lucky to have avoided a swim."

He led Kyren directly to the great dining hall. Once inside, he addressed the near-silent crowd. "Forgive the intrusion, lords and ladies. I present Kyren Asheworth."

Kyren stood in the dining hall of a place she had once considered home and felt the flutterings of nervousness in her stomach. The lords and ladies scattered around the lower tables stared at her blatantly and Seaworth had drawn away. The guards stationed at the corners of the room were clearly on alert, hands on the hilts of their swords.

"Kyren Asheworth," a deep voice intoned from the front of the room. A dark-haired man stood behind the high table on its raised dias and beckoned. Kyren approached, too intimidated to do anything more than walk.

"She appears to be armed, your grace," a slimy, horribly-familiar voice said. Kyren glanced over to see Petyr Baelish aiming an oily smile in her direction.

Kyren's eyes narrowed in his direction and she grasped the hilt of her sword with her right hand, subtly palming a dagger with her left. Baelish reared back, stumbling over his chair as he fumbled for his own sword, but the dark-haired man slammed his hands on the table.

"Enough! Kyren, leave him alone."

She spared him only a single glance, but something about the warning in his dark eyes took her back to a simpler time. "Jon?" she asked, allowing her hand to slip away from the sword hilt, though the dagger remained tucked in her sleeve within easy reach.

"Hello, Kyren," he greeted with a smile. It was a cheerful expression, but it highlighted the new lines of weariness and solemnity on his face, as well as the deep scar over one eye.

"This meeting is adjourned," the woman at his side called, voice strident enough to be heard over the hubbub that had resulted from Kyren threatening Baelish. The guards glanced at Jon for confirmation and he gave a single nod that sent the crowd from the room in only moments.

The guards, Baelish, and a number of the people who had been seated at the high table remained in the empty room. "How dare you threaten me?" Baelish hissed after the last door had been closed.

"Lord Baelish, you are dismissed as well," the red-haired woman told him dispassionately. With an offended look and a swish of his half-cape, Baelish fled the room as well.

The red-haired woman circled around the table and reached to pull Kyren into an embrace. It was only as she stood close enough for Kyren to see her eyes that recognition struck. "Sansa," she smiled over the girl's shoulder. "I feared you would not survive."

"I nearly did not," Sansa admitted with a sad smile.

Rage ignited in Kyren's chest. "Cersei," she gritted. "What did she do?"

"Shockingly, it was not her. My troubles began as I left King's Landing."

"Did you poison Joffrey?"

"No," she denied flatly. "Though I wish to the gods that I had."

"A wish shared by many, I would guess," Kyren replied with a smile. As she and Sansa broke apart, she caught the eye of a tall woman standing by the corner. She wore a large sword and seemed utterly comfortable with it, though her face bore a soft smile. Kyren glanced to Jon. "I am afraid I know no one here anymore. Does Winterfell have many guests at the moment?"

Jon's pleasant expression dropped back into a serious one and Kyren mourned the loss of happiness on his face. "The lords of the North have gathered to discuss a problem we face. Additional guards have been required as enemies of House Stark still lurk across Westeros."

"All of that avoids the true cause for gathering the lords of the North," Sansa said smoothly. "The Dragon Queen has sent a raven."

"Truly?" Kyren asked with a frown. "What does she ask of you?"

"She wants me to bend the knee on behalf of the North," Jon revealed.

"Why you in particular?" Kyren grimaced even as she asked it, hoping that Jon would not take offense to the blunt reference to his illegitimate background, but he seemed not even to notice.

"They've started calling me the King in the North."

Kyren started to smile, thought better of it, and frowned again. "Are you?"

"Of course he is," Sansa asserted. "There is no one more fitting for the position than the previous Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and the son of Lord Eddard Stark."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Kyren said. "Are you going to bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen?"

"No," Sansa said firmly even as Jon gave a shrug.

"We are still in discussions about our best course of action. There are other factors to be considered." Jon sounded the weariest he had so far at that, dragging a hand down his face and over his neatly-trimmed facial hair.

"The lord have given their opinion, as have I," Sansa told him.

"I need to discuss certain things with you later, Kyren," Jon called over Sansa's shoulder. "For now, would you excuse us?"

Sansa's arched brows sank low over her eyes. "Perhaps you had best wait outside as well, Brienne. This should take only a moment."

"Yes, my lady," the tall woman agreed, striding to a door while Kyren followed, feeling rather like a puppy trailing after its master.

When they stood alone outside the great dining hall, Kyren turned to the towering female beside her. "Lady Brienne, is it? I am Kyren. It's lovely to meet you."

"Likewise," Brienne said simply, her eyes roving their surroundings rather than meeting Kyren's. "Though it is only Brienne. I am no lady."

Kyren nodded, though Brienne did not see. "I assume you are the reason Sansa still lives. For that, I thank you."

"Lady Sansa Stark is alive because she is clever and true. I was charged by Lady Catelyn Stark to protect her and that is why I do so, not for the thanks of others." Brienne still did not look at Kyren, but her voice was terse.

"I was also charged by Lady Cat to protect Sansa and Arya," Kyren admitted. "It is my life's greatest regret that I was unable to do so. You do not require gratitude in payment for doing your duty and I understand, but you have mine." No response came and Kyren loosed a nearly inaudible sigh. "Good evening, Brienne."

"I have heard much about you," Brienne said abruptly. Kyren, having traveled quite a way down the hall by that point, turned around curiously. "Ser Jaime spoke of Kyren Asheworth on several occasions."

Kyren's entire face reddened, she could feel it, but Brienne's pale eyes still scanned their surroundings for potential threats. "It is my firm belief that Jaime Lannister speaks because he is the most interesting person he knows. I pray you do not judge me by what he has said of me, for most of it is not to be trusted."

"Most of it was not lucid," Brienne revealed. "I was with him during the unfortunate removal of his sword hand. He was delirious for days afterward and believed me to be you more than once."

Seized by sudden memories of Jaime's behavior toward her, Kyren's face flamed even hotter. "I can only apologize once more."

"There is no need. You should know that you've earned the respect of a good man."

"A Lannister," Kyren countered, more to see how Brienne would react than because she thought it true.

Brienne unsheathed her sword in one long motion and Kyren gripped the hilt of her dagger a fraction tighter than she had previously. Brienne did not move to attack, however, but showed Kyren the blade, letting light bounce along the length. "This is Oathkeeper. It is one of two Valyrian steel swords forged from the melted remains of Ice, the sword of Lord Eddard Stark. Oathkeeper was gifted to Jaime by his father. It is a unique and priceless weapon and he gave it into my keeping without hesitation. He thought it fitting for Sansa to be protected by her father's blade in the hands of one trusted by her mother. Ser Jaime Lannister is a good man, and I will not suffer to hear him disparaged."

"A difficult thing here. There is no love lost between the North and the Lannisters." The first look Brienne had cast toward Kyren during their conversation and it was one of mulish frustration. "As it happens, I agree with you. Somehow, despite his horrid upbringing, Ser Jaime has proven to be a man worthy of his vows."

Before Brienne could say anything further, Sansa exited the great dining hall and Brienne's eyes turned to her instead. "Any luck, my lady?"

"I believe I am beginning to win him over," Sansa said with a weary shake of her head. "Good evening, Kyren. Jon wishes to speak with you before you retire. I will send a servant to freshen up your old sleeping quarters if they will still suit?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you."

Sansa laid a graceful hand on Kyren's shoulder and gave a single squeeze before moving away for the night. Brienne sent a shallow nod of her blonde head. When Kyren entered the great hall, she found Jon standing before the large fireplace, staring into the flames.

"Jon?" Kyren asked softly, attempting to break him from his reverie. "You wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes, I need your perspective on things," he revealed. "You know the Targaryen girl wants me to bend the knee, but you do not know why I am considering doing so."

When she gave no answer, Jon turned far enough to fix her with a dark stare. "What do you know of white walkers?"

* * *

Author's Note \- I very much enjoyed writing this chapter! Jaime and Bronn's interaction, then Jaqen's return, then Kyren meeting Davos and Brienne? All my favorites in one (metaphorical) place! As you can tell, we're moving further and further into the later seasons of the show and in the next few chapters, things will truly become AU. Small shifts, hopefully ones that are still plausible considering the GoT universe.

We're still holding up the streak of zero reviews, so I don't have anyone to thank here. If you want to be my first review in almost five chapters, drop me a line! I'll send you a PM with my gratitude and the exact date of the next chapter's release. (Can you tell I'm trying to bribe you?)

Thanks for reading and I'll see you next month! Have a wonderful day!


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four

Here she was, on yet another ship. Kyren was tired of traveling by sea. She had spent only a handful of weeks with her feet on land over the past months and, while this last experience with land had been far more pleasant than the last, those experiences had been less than peaceful... not that her time aboard ships had been much less fraught with tension.

"Hello, Kyren," Ser Davos greeted cheerfully, approaching to stand beside her on the deck.

"Hello," Kyren returned absently. She envied him his utter love of the sea. He had revealed to her that he was once a smuggler and that it was how he had known Salladhor Saan. From everything he had said, the Onion Knight had never been happier than when the waves were surging beneath him. Even now, the lines on his face were less apparent and there was joy in his eyes as he surveyed the horizon.

He deserved the peace, she told herself. His son had died in Stannis Baratheon's attack on King's Landing and she privately believed that Davos blamed himself. His wife had killed herself upon hearing the news and Kyren knew for a fact that Davos blamed himself for her death. If the sea brought him peace, so much the better for him.

"We should arrive at Dragonstone by tomorrow morning," Davos said, then added with a grin, "Do you think Jon will have anything left to wear when he gets his audience with the queen?"

Kyren snorted, thoroughly broken out of her reverie. "I doubt it. Maybe she will greet him from far enough away that she won't be able to smell him?"

Poor Jon had not been blessed with Davos's easy way with ships and sailing. Since the moment they had left their port in the North, he had been sick. Though they had taken great pains to keep a number of containers handy for these expellations, Jon had managed to stain nearly every article of clothing that had been brought along.

Davos chortled, clapping a weathered hand on her shoulder. "We'll find something for the lad to wear, no doubt about it."

"I should hope so," Kyren said, abruptly pulled back into her introspection. "With what he plans to tell her, we will be fortunate if the Dragon Queen allows us to leave her castle alive."

"That isn't how diplomacy is done," Davos told her in his rumbling accent. "We're far more use to her alive and potentially on her side than dead with the entire North turned against her. I know it doesn't look it, but we're going into this meeting with just as much power as she is."

"And three less dragons," Kyren pointed out.

"Fewer."

"What?" She shook her head. "Less, fewer… either way, we may have had as much power if we met somewhere else, army to army, but look who Jon has brought. A handful of guards, an advisor who fought for another king until a short time ago, and a peasant girl who his father adopted. We're hardly a match for her Unsullied army alone, never mind the dragons."

"Ah, but her Unsullied aren't on Dragonstone. My contacts say-"

"Yes, yes, they're attacking Casterly Rock, I remember," Kyren cut him off with a smile to lessen the rudeness of her words. "I am nervous regardless."

"You?" Davos asked. "I haven't gotten a proper night's sleep this whole voyage."

Kyren eyed him incredulously. "Surely you jest! Your snoring shakes the timbers of the ship every night. I should fear for my ears to hear you get a proper night's sleep!"

"Respect for one's elders is a pleasure to the gods," Davos informed her seriously, though his eyes were twinkling.

"I believe they will consider my offense to be a small balm to the offense given by your snoring."

"I don't have to stand here and listen to this," Davos claimed, shooting a mock glare at her. "I have to go help the cook prepare the fish for tonight's supper. Maybe we'll leave a few bones in yours."

Kyren only laughed and was soon left alone once more at her spot on deck.

She truly had not wanted to accompany Jon on his mission to see the Dragon Queen. After just having arrived at Winterfell, she had been reluctant to leave once more, especially on so hopeless a mission as this one promised to be. In the end, however, Jon had appealed to her sense of logic. He could not bring a great number of guards along and had only Davos to protect him. There was little reason for Kyren to remain at Winterfell as Sansa had Brienne to guard her. Baelish had been warned to leave her alone. The final stroke had been when Jon stared down at Kyren with dark, expressive eyes - eyes that once earned him mocking from Robb and Theon - and asked her simply to trust him. There was no arguing with that. Kyren did trust him, but held no such feeling for the Dragon Queen.

It was not until after she had boarded the ship that she realized she should have remained behind to keep an eye out for whatever poor soul Jaqen was waiting to see, as well as be sure he would not cause any mischief.

Kyren's one true regret, however, was leaving Sotam behind. He had been such a constant companion that she felt his absence like she would if her daggers were missing, but had refused to bring him along when Jon had offered. She gave the excuse that Sotam would be happier in the North with grass to graze and other horses to run with, but in truth, she was far from certain that she would ever be allowed to leave Dragonstone. Even if her loyalty to the Starks meant that Kyren was obligated to go to her death, there was no good reason that Sotam should have to meet the same fate.

"Kyren, the king has asked to speak with you," one of the crew hands told her, retreating with a friendly nod when she agreed. She had earned the respect of the small crew by stepping in and helping when needed, drawing deeply on her meager experience and the instructions of Davos.

She took a deep breath before entering Jon's room so she could breathe shallowly once inside, but it didn't help. The stink of sickness lay thick in the room and Jon sat pale in his bunk, surrounded by containers that sloshed horribly. The single manservant Jon had brought along scurried around the room, retrieving the filled containers and taking them away, presumably to be emptied. Jon told him not to return and the man gave a shallow bow before closing the door softly.

"We need to talk strategy," Jon said feebly.

"Are you certain you are capable of thinking strategically at the moment?" Kyren asked candidly. "You've been sick for the entirety of the voyage. We can make plans when we arrive at Dragonstone tomorrow morning, before departing the ship."

"That isn't enough time," he told her, as firmly as he was able. "We accepted the offer of the Targaryen Dragon Queen to come and swear loyalty, but I have no intention of swearing the North into the keeping of a woman who could be as mad as her father was. I know you think I don't take the danger of coming here seriously, but I do."

"Then why come here at all, Jon? I know you say she may be able to help with the threat to the north, but surely it isn't so dangerous as an army of Unsullied and _three_ dragons?"

Jon sighed and rubbed at his scarred eyebrow. "It is far more dangerous than that. The only chance we have at fighting them is if she agrees to help."

"And if she does not?" Jon stared at her, frustration plain on his face, but Kyren refused to back away from her question. "Well? You wanted to strategize and this is a possibility. If she refuses to help in this fight, what will we do?"

"Return to Winterfell and die among family," Jon said heavily. "Kyren, there is no fighting these things. You cannot kill what is already dead. If Daenerys Targaryen refuses to aid us, the white walkers and their armies will kill every living soul in Westeros."

"Then we'd better figure out a way to convince her," Davos interrupted, pushing the door open so he could enter. He bowed to Jon. "Apologies, my king. I only just received your summons. It seems the crew on this ship are afraid of the smell of fish being cleaned."

Jon paled at that, taking on a greenish hue so rapidly that Kyren passed him an empty container without delay. As he set earnestly to filling it, Kyren exchanged a look with Davos. Their survival and that of the Seven Kingdoms depended on the way they handled the reportedly-difficult Targaryen. This meeting would last through the night if necessary.

Kyren cast her gaze around the room with a sigh. "We're going to need more containers."

* * *

Early the next afternoon, Jon, Davos, and Kyren set ashore, along with a small party of soldiers. They were armed with a plan, Longclaw, and Kyren's daggers, but little else. They had been warned in advance that the Dragon Queen did not much care for others bringing weapons into her court, so they had kept armaments to a bare minimum.

They had expected to be greeted, as was custom, but Kyren privately believed that this was the first diplomatic journey to be greeted by a handful of Dothraki warriors - at least, without immediately meeting their death. Two non-Dothraki stood on the beach as well: a pretty Essosi woman and an extremely short man who Kyren recognized immediately. His gaze, however, was intent on Jon.

"The bastard of Winterfell," he greeted insultingly.

Kyren stiffened at the slur, but Jon merely returned, "The dwarf of Casterly Rock."

The two stared each other down for a tension-fraught moment before breaking out in smiles and greeting each other with a startling amount of fondness. She hadn't realized that the two bonded so closely during their time spent at the Wall.

Tyrion introduced himself to Ser Davos next. They spoke briefly about the Battle of Blackwater Bay before Tyrion gave a short introduction of the Essosi woman, Missandei, who was apparently a trusted advisor of the queen.

Missandei spoke eloquently, welcoming them on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen before requesting that they remove their weapons and give them to the Dothraki. Jon agreed and, with some grumbling, the soldiers behind them gave theirs over as well.

One Dothraki male approached Kyren, scanning her up and down once for weapons, a second in apparent shock over the discrepancy between her clothing and her gender, then a final time with eyes full of appreciative consideration. "No weapons," she told him, voice tight with displeasure at his disrespect.

"Kyren," Jon said warningly.

"Oh, yes," she said with a feigned laugh, unbuckling the forearm sheath with chilled fingers and slipping it out from under her sleeve. She handed the carefully-wrought dagger and its warmed leather sheath over to the Dothraki man, meeting the abruptly-suspicious gaze of Missandei with a commiserating shrug. "It is a dangerous world for a woman."

"Why, Kyren Asheworth," Tyrion said, startled into a chuckle. "I hadn't expected to see you here. Still throwing daggers?"

Before she could answer, Missandei asked sharply, "You know a large number of our guests, Lord Tyrion. Is Westeros such a small place?"

"It certainly seems so at times," Tyrion replied easily, unbothered by her biting tone. "Kyren, we shall have to share stories before you depart. I must know all that has happened since I saw you last."

"I am curious at these circumstances as well," Kyren said, carefully admitting her surprise at his new position.

He nodded once in acknowledgment of her veiled comment. "Shall we go in? The queen awaits."

The journey into the castle was long, longer with the dragons constantly swooping down on them from above. They had been forced on multiple occasions to duck against the sun-warmed stones of the path in a bid to avoid the flexed talons of the scaled beasts and Kyren had rapidly tired of the novelty of dragons.

"She _does_ wish us to come inside, does she not?" Kyren asked irritably on one such occasion.

"If she did not, she would have burnt your ship in the bay before you ever set foot on land," Missandei told her with a self-satisfied expression. Kyren didn't know why; they were not her dragons.

When they were at last shown into the throne room, Kyren could not help but note how empty it was. She had not expected the bustling court she had seen in King's Landing, but surely a queen with so many armies should have more than a few Dothraki guards, an announcer, and a Hand. To that note, Kyren had yet to see these infamous armies. Certainly, they had been greeted by a small number of Dothraki warriors, but the Dragon Queen was said to have thousands of Unsullied soldiers. Anyone with a head for strategy would have advised against sending all one's forces against a single target, even if that target was Casterly Rock.

The queen herself matched all the stories that Kyren had heard - few as they had been with her extensive travels. She was short in stature, slender, and ethereally beautiful with the visual shock of her white hair. She made a dramatic statement, sitting against the dark stone of the asymmetrical throne on its dais. She looked every inch the Targaryen savior of the Seven Kingdoms and, judging from the long list of titles faithfully recited by Missandei, considered herself to be exactly that.

The queen did not enjoy Ser Davos's steadfast refusal to allow Jon's title of King in the North to be ignored, nor did she appreciate Jon's unwillingness to bend the knee. Her pleasant face froze into a mask when Jon stated bluntly that he would not swear the North to her.

"You've traveled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?" she asked, melodious voice pitched low enough to be forbidding.

"Break faith?" Jon repeating, disbelief heavy in his voice, though Kyren stood too close behind him to see if the feeling was mirrored on his face. "Your father burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive. He would have burned the Seven Kingdoms if he had not been stabbed in the back by a man who had sworn to protect him. If your father could not keep the faith of his own Kingsguard, why should anyone be expected to hold their vows to him in such stead that their children owe him loyalty?"

From her vantage point, tucked slightly behind Jon's broad shoulder, Kyren smirked at the handy dismantling of Daenerys Targaryen's demand for old vows to be upheld. Unfortunately, the expression seemed to draw the queen's attention.

"And who is the final member of this Northern party?" she asked coldly.

Tyrion cleared his throat. "Kyren Asheworth, your grace."

"Kyren Asheworth," the queen repeated, sounding unimpressed. "Tell me, Kyren: what special skills and experience permit you to sit in on deliberations of this sort and judge them?"

"None at all, your grace," Kyren admitted freely. "I am here because my king asked me to be. Nothing else would bring me."

"Is that so? Well, tell me, Jon Snow: why is Kyren Asheworth here?"

"I trust her. She was the person who knew my father the best outside of his immediate family. I trust her to speak with his voice, in his absence."

Kyren fought to keep her composure, but her throat tightened at the explanation of her presence here. She grew abruptly and shockingly ashamed of the way she had behaved up to this point. Lord Stark would surely have acted with more grace and decorum.

The queen seemed far less impacted by the admission than Kyren was. "Very well. As the voice of Lord Eddard, do you agree that Jon owes me no fealty?"

"Yes, your grace, that is correct," Kyren said simply, drawing herself up to her full height.

"And why is that? Do the Great Houses of Westeros no longer abide by the vows of their fathers?"

Kyren puffed out a breath at the implied insult, but gathered her thoughts as best she could. "In all honesty, your grace, I believe it to be in your best interest not to ask Jon to uphold those vows."

The queen froze on her rough-hewn throne and Tyrion leaned forward slightly. "What does that mean, Kyren?"

"There are many phrases and sayings about House Targaryen, few of them complimentary in nature," Kyren said slowly, trying to pick an inoffensive way of forming her thoughts into a cohesive argument. "If you truly wish to rule Westeros, your grace, perhaps it would be better to rule through your own merits rather than making claim to oaths sworn to those from whom you wish to distance yourself. Be a queen of the people, as it were. We've all heard of your successes in Essos, ruling where the Targaryen name means little. Do not allow Cersei to claim your support is due only to ancient oaths and misplaced honor."

Tyrion looked to be considering her advice, but disdain flickered in the pale eyes of the queen. "Are you Jon Snow's Hand?" she asked, voice falsely kind.

"No, your grace."

"A dignitary, then, well-versed in the ways of politics?"

"No, I am not."

The lightness of her tone dropped abruptly into harshness. "Then in the future, you should confine your advice to Jon Snow. If you truly speak with the honorable Ned Stark's voice, I care little for what he says."

Jon's shoulders tensed and Kyren rested a gentling hand on his back even as Tyrion said quietly, "My queen…"

Daenerys visibly paused to gather herself and when she spoke once more, everything about her was softly beseeching. "My father was an evil man, Jon Snow. On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family and I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father."

Tyrion beamed like a proud parent beside her as the queen launched into an invitation of peace and partnership between House Targaryen and House Stark, with her as queen and Jon as Warden in the North. Dimly, Kyren wondered if she truly believed the people of the North would allow themselves to be governed by anyone other than Jon Snow.

The Dragon Queen's offer was immediately proven false when Jon refused once more and began the warning about the Night King that they had so carefully prepared the previous night. Rather than listen as even Lord Stark would have - despite how little he would have believed the story - she diverted the topic to her life and how she had battled to the place she currently occupied.

"Do you know what kept me standing all those years in exile?" she concluded, eyes gleaming with the light of a fanatic. "Faith. Not in any gods, not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen."

While the queen continued, speaking of the wonder of her dragons, Kyren could not stifle a wince. Disparaging the gods was a mistake, one almost as grave as disregarding them altogether. All that the woman had achieved could be brought crashing to the stones beneath their feet if the gods felt they were not being given their due, and they clearly were not.

Ser Davos, to his credit, was far from cowed by the headstrong queen. He defended Jon fervently, speaking with eloquence about how Jon's title was dependent on no birthright and Kyren felt a surge of pride in her friend. Davos stopped speaking only when Jon cut him off with a sharp look. _Took a knife in the heart for his people?_ Kyren mused silently on the last thing Davos had said. She had yet to hear that story, but surely it was an exaggeration, a tale told to make the King in the North appear even greater than he was? No one could be stabbed in the heart and survive. It was impossible.

"If it doesn't matter, then you might as well kneel," Tyrion cut in, clearly attempting to sound reasonable. "Swear your allegiance to Queen Daenerys, help her defeat my sister, and together, our armies will protect the North."

Kyren stared at Tyrion in surprise. Surely he knew how important this was. Why did he deliberately try to keep Jon from drawing the queen's attention to the real issues? Tyrion glanced at her once, then studiously away as Jon refused once more.

"By declaring yourself king of my northernmost kingdom, you are in open rebellion," the queen said darkly, but before she could make a threat in earnest, she was interrupted by Varys. Kyren could only watch him in surprise - when had he left King's Landing? - but he paid her no attention.

An obviously-unsettled queen dismissed them shortly after, inviting them to their rooms to bathe and eat. When Jon, ever-direct, asked if they were prisoners, her response was less than reassuring:

"Not yet."

A Dothraki male led them from the throne room, the same one who had taken such an inappropriate interest in Kyren on the beach - Mhorgo, the queen had called him. With a silent gesture, Jon had Ser Davos follow the Dothraki directly while he and Kyren fell back slightly.

"Do you still have your corset?" Jon asked lowly.

The petty part of Kyren was tempted to ignore him. After all, if she had done things Jon's way, she would have left her corset on the ship and they would be well and truly without weapons. However, her pragmaticism overpowered the bitterness inside her and she nodded. "I am never without it."

"Good," he said simply. He might have added more, but they had arrived at what seemed to be the guest wing of Dragonstone and Ser Davos was given the first room. The smuggler stepped into the room easily enough, but turned to make solemn eye contact with Kyren. Understanding his soundless request, Kyren stepped toward Mhorgo with a dazzling smile.

"Tell me, ser," she said, then cut herself off as she 'tripped', regaining her balance by grasping the man's bicep and forearm. She took her time standing up, making a great deal of eye contact and forcing a giggle. "My apologies."

He helped her stand by wrapping his hands around her hips, thankfully too low to feel the daggers sheathed in the corset beneath her billowing shirt, and was slow to draw away. She had no way of knowing if she had bought Jon and Davos enough time for a conversation, but Kyren had stretched her time with Mhorgo far longer than she felt comfortable. His dark gaze was already calculating and she did not wish to find what role she filled in his estimation. She had an uncomfortable suspicion it was something close to 'whore'.

Jon, bless him, seemed to sense her discomfort. He stepped up beside her with a firm look and rested a hand familiarly on her shoulder. "We may continue."

Kyren's quarters were next and Jon gave a significant look before she closed herself in. "I shall see you soon, Kyren."

"My king," she acknowledged with a deep nod.

She ate the simple meal of roast chicken and root vegetables carefully, searching for any hint of poison, but found none. The bath was welcome and she luxuriated in it, but it was only a short time after night fell that she crept from her chamber and moved into the stone-lined hall.

"What're you doing out here?"

Kyren started violently and turned to glare at Ser Davos. "I could ask you the same."

"I plan to meet with our king and discover just how he intends to move forward. Was your door left unlocked?"

With a quiet scoff, Kyren shook her head. "The day this simple castle locks stymie me is the day I deserve to lose my head. They locked yours as well?"

"They did, but any smuggler worth his salt knows how to pick a lock." Davos turned and peered down the dim hallway. "Any idea where Jon might be?"

"I was hoping you knew," Kyren admitted softly. "There are only a handful of doors in this area. Let us start the search."

"You only need bother with the locked doors," Davos reminded logically and they set to work.

They found Jon's chambers set some distance down the hall, but easily within sight. It was indeed locked.

"Would you like to do the honors?" Kyren whispered, tugging lightly at the door handle.

"Please, go ahead. I'd like to see the techniques of the next generation."

Kyren removed the blunted slender wand from the back of her corset, Davos averting his eyes until the hem of her shirt settled back into place. She placed it into the lock, gave an expert twist, and struck the end of the handle. With a loud _click!_ the door handle moved easily.

"A little rough," Davos commented, moving forward. "Remind me and I'll teach you how to open a lock without breaking it."

Kyren shrugged and pushed the door open. Jon stood ready, brandishing a knife that he had clearly stolen from his dinner platter, but dropped the meager weapon when he saw them. "I wondered how long it would be before you joined me."

"Couldn't pick the lock, eh?" Davos asked with a grin.

"Teasing the king is treason," Jon warned seriously, but his dark eyes were smiling.

"What do we try from here?" Kyren asked, anxious to get to the heart of the business. "How do we refuse the queen and still retain our freedom?"

Jon's face was serious once more. "It is far more serious than our freedom. We must try to gain access to her dragonglass if we have any hope of surviving the winter."

"Can we find the dragonglass and take some now?" Kyren asked. "I sense - from everything that was said earlier - that she may not be willing to help us in exchange for nothing, which is exactly what we can afford to give her."

"That would be a mistake," Davos told her sternly. "If we hold out hope for any sort of diplomacy, we cannot attempt to steal from the queen. We cannot even risk being seen outside of our rooms without losing any chance at a compromise."

"Kyren is right," Jon disagreed. "There is little hope that the Dragon Queen will offer us aid for nothing more than preventing the end of Westeros. Until she rules, she seems not to care about what evils could befall the Seven Kingdoms. She clearly did not believe that the White Walkers exist, let alone that they are a threat to the safety of the people."

Even as Davos protested, Jon stood and strode purposefully to the door. "We need to find the dragonglass."

As Jon and Davos closed the door carefully behind them, Kyren walked around the hall, systematically locking every door before breaking the locks.

"Kyren, what are you doing?" Davos asked wearily.

"If we are caught, we can claim that the doors were unlocked and we did not know we weren't to leave. For all the queen knows, the doors in this hall were damaged by Stannis before she claimed control of Dragonstone."

Davos shook his head and began walking down the hall. "This way. The dragonglass deposits lie beneath the King- the _Queen's_ strategy room."

As they drew closer to the place Ser Davos insisted held the island's dragonglass, it became apparent that there was an emergency meeting taking place. There had been a major setback for the Targaryen takeover of Westeros.

"Half our allies are dead!" the queen snapped sharply. "The Sand Sisters are gone, the Greyjoys are gone, and we are no closer to seizing control of Casterly Rock! What is worse, Varys has received reports that Lannister troops are moving on Highgarden! Tell me exactly, Lord Tyrion, just why it is that I should remain calm?"

"Because your allies are still too great to be numbered," Tyrion reminded.

"Truly? Because I could not even convince Jon Snow - a member of a Targaryen ally family for _centuries_ \- to join my cause!"

"Perhaps the trouble with your message is in the delivery, your grace." Varys's smooth tone was gentle, but Kyren still winced, prepared for the worst.

"Get out, both of you." Silence. "Out, now!"

The door opened and Tyrion stepped into the hall. Jon, Davos, and Kyren pressed against the nearest wall as closely as was possible to avoid being seen by the queen, but Tyrion spotted them immediately.

He stepped toward them, hissing, "What in the name of the Seven are you doing? She could demand your heads for this!"

Jon straightened. "I will not be made a prisoner!"

Kyren sighed and mentally amended her plan to claim they had not known they weren't to leave their quarters.

"Then you will be made a corpse!" Tyrion returned heatedly. "Why did you accept her invitation if you had no plans to bend the knee?"

Before Jon could answer, Varys left the room and closed the door behind himself. It took only a moment for him to catch sight of the party and half that to control his expression of surprise. "Jon Snow. I had not expected to find you here, your grace. Nasty disregard of diplomacy, would you not agree? I am only surprised that the honorable Ser Davos Seaworth did not prevent you from taking such a drastic step."

"Perhaps we should move away from this spot," Tyrion said, casting a nervous glance at the door behind Varys.

"Quite," Varys agreed. "Lead on, my friend."

Tyrion walked back the way they had come, toward the guest quarters. Jon trailed him closely with Davos following behind. At the back of the group, Varys leaned a touch closer to Kyren so he could murmur, "Kyren Asheworth. I've been keeping watch over your deeds for quite some time."

"Varys," Kyren returned with a slight bow of her head. "I heard you fled Westeros as a traitor."

"A traitor to the crown, perhaps, but never to Westeros."

Kyren made no attempt to respond, thinking of everything she had seen of the Dragon Queen's actions. Cersei was undeniably bad for the Seven Kingdoms, but she could not see how Daenerys Targaryen would be a better prospect.

Tyrion led them directly back to Jon's chamber and did not speak until they were all inside. "What were you thinking to leave here? To listen in on a private meeting of the Queen's small council? It could have meant your death, or, at very least, the queen's immediate denial of any requests for aid this coming winter."

"Do you truly believe she plans to offer any aid whatsoever?" Jon returned.

"I believe… she could be convinced," Tyrion said after a significant pause.

Jon scoffed. "You'll have to forgive me if I refuse to stake the life of every Westerosi on the potential benevolence of a Targaryen."

"I can hardly promise anything!" Tyrion replied, obviously frustrated. "You are the one who accepted an invitation to bend the knee, refused to do so, and insulted the queen!"

"She isn't a queen!" As if the room itself were stunned by Jon's vehement assertion, everything fell silent. He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "At this point, Daenerys Targaryen is little more than a foreign invader. She has a kingdom in Essos, but she left that in pursuit of a better one. She hasn't said a word about the people she intends to rule, only the obstacles in her way. Those are not the traits of a ruler, but a conqueror."

"Robert Baratheon spoke in a similar way," Varys reminded.

"And see how that turned out," Jon said. "Do you support Daenerys's claim to the Iron Throne because she is the best candidate or because she is the only one?"

"She is better than Cersei," Tyrion told him firmly and Varys nodded his agreement.

"Cersei is as mad as the Mad King was said to be," Kyren interjected. "Very few would be worse suited to the position than she is, but that is no specific recommendation."

"At the moment, Daenerys is the best chance we have of wresting the Seven Kingdoms from Cersei's control," Varys said plainly.

"Perhaps if you attempted to know Daenerys, you would come to see why she has the support she does," Tyrion suggested.

"Very well," Jon said heavily. "Tomorrow, I will make an effort to know the Dragon Queen."

"That is all we ask." Despite the blank expression on his face, Tyrion's voice betrayed his gratitude and relief.

Even as the tension in the room fell, Kyren couldn't help her sense of nervousness. There seemed very little to recommend Daenerys as queen and quite a bit standing between her and the Iron Throne. While Jon attempted to understand the woman herself on the following day, Kyren plotted that she would gather information from the servants around Dragonstone.

* * *

Author's Note \- As always, I hate simply transcribing the dialogue from the episodes, so there was a bit of skipping around in this chapter. I focused a lot more on Kyren's thoughts rather than the debates between Jon and Daenerys. I know the Dany fans probably didn't like this chapter very much and I'm sorry! I loved her character up until this episode, where she came off really condescending. However - as I said several chapters ago - we're getting more and more into the AU plot. You'll start seeing shifts from the television show plot as we move forward into the events of the last two seasons.

We finally broke the string of no reviews! HUGE thanks to unmajestically and CharNinja LOL for the compliments and feedback! Both of you are amazing!

I would love to hear from the rest of you as well! For now, thanks for reading and have a great day - and a happy new year!


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These rights are the sole property of George R.R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five

"The Lady Olenna agreed to drink the poison she was given and - just before death - admitted to causing the untimely demise of King Joffrey Baratheon."

Cersei's face tightened, both at the news and at the public setting in which it had been disclosed. Jaime would rather have told her in private, but he had been met in the stables and ordered to come to the throne room in order to make his report before the whole of the court.

"And the gold?" Euron Greyjoy asked from beside Cersei, his eyes glittering with greed.

She shot him a quelling look as a reprimand for speaking out of turn, but raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Jaime as if to ask the same question.

"Our caravan was attacked as we left the Reach," Jaime told her, unconsciously straightening at the flurry of whispers that started in the echoing hall. "Daenerys Targaryen used her dragons to burn our caravans, melting most of the gold into the ground. A great many men died in the flames. The survivors who were too injured to travel were left to be cared for at the Reach while those who could still march brought the gold that could be salvaged."

"And how much is that, precisely?" Cersei asked.

"Several thousand Dragons, my queen, but little more. A great deal of the treasures recovered from the Reach burned easily during the attack and the melted gold was lost beneath the wreckage of the wagons-"

"Enough," Cersei ordered harshly. "I sent you to take the riches of the Reach. You should never have returned without them. Perhaps if you still retained your sword hand, this would not have happened."

The onlookers tittered and Jaime squared his jaw to hide how it felt as though she had kicked him in the chest. He had been treated as a hired soldier by their father and Cersei had promised to never act that way - just as Jaime had taken pains to keep Cersei from feeling as though she were nothing more than a womb to be sold in exchange for an advantageous match. And now she had as good as told him that he was worth nothing without his abilities with a sword. _Not that a sword would have proven to be a match for a dragon_ , he thought darkly.

"At least you have one successful man in your life," Euron boomed. Jaime's mood turned - if possible - even more sour. "I destroyed the Sand Snakes _and_ took out the naval threat."

"The naval threat of your kin, if I am not mistaken," Jaime returned sharply.

Euron shrugged. "A half-victory is more impressive than cowering from a few beasts ridden by a pale-haired bitch."

The ladies of the court gasped at his course language, but Euron only grinned more widely. Before Jaime could return the insult in kind, Cersei had stood, bringing silence in the room.

"This session is now ended," she announced, sweeping away after a pointed look at Jaime - he was to follow her as soon as he had finished settling the minutiae of the ill-fated journey to the Reach.

As he marched from the room in an attempt to avoid the crowd, Bronn fell into step beside him. "Well, that was an uncomfortable fucking reunion."

"Shouldn't you be selling your services to some unscrupulous moron?" Jamie asked bitterly.

"I'm a sellsword, not a whore. Besides, I'm currently stuck following around an unscrupulous moron who doesn't pay me and in fact owes me a fucking castle."

"I should have had you beheaded months ago," Jaime told him, but Bronn only grinned and stayed silent. "Find somewhere else to be. I need to meet with Cersei and she won't find you as amusing as I do."

"You might want to delay that meeting," Bronn told him casually. "You have a more important one."

Jaime snorted. "Do not allow my sister to hear you calling her less important than anyone."

Instead of replying, Bronn held out a familiar-looking ring. Jaime took it curiously and realized with a start that it was the Lannister family ring, passed down from patriarch to patriarch - until it had been lost. Tywin's body had not been wearing the ring when it was found, and the prevailing opinion had been that it was stolen by… "Tyrion?"

"He waits under the Red Keep as we speak."

Abruptly, Jaime slipped the ring onto his own finger and nodded to Bronn. "Let's go."

When Jaime finally stepped into Cersei's private chambers, several hours had passed and she refused to do so much as glance in his direction. He waited silently, feeling a bit like a misbehaving child as she continued to write in neat lines across a piece of parchment. When she finally set the finished missive aside, it was only to survey him with cool jade eyes.

"I sent you to retrieve Highgarden's gold. Do you know why I chose you? Because I believed you to be the one person I could trust, the one who would never fail me. And yet you have failed me. We have now lost the support of the Iron Bank. They will back the Targaryen girl as soon as she thinks to make them an offer." Jaime did not reply and Cersei gave a shallow nod. "It seems you have no answer to offer in your own defense. Fitting, as there is none to give. Without the support of the Iron Bank, we have only what few allies remain to us. We will be forced to make hefty promises to ensure their support."

Jaime sighed, bringing his left hand up to rub at his brow. "Cersei, I think it is past time that we were honest about this. We cannot win this war. We have no allies-"

"We have the Iron Isles," she interrupted.

"We have no _strong_ allies," he clarified. "We have no money to purchase armies and most of the Seven Kingdoms have turned against us. We cannot depend upon them for support."

"And you believe we should - what? Admit defeat? Give ourselves over to our enemies and allow them to murder us, mutilate our bodies while the masses cheer?"

"No, but we could leave. Flee to Essos. There, we could be together, openly." Jaime made the offer, though he noted with more than a little discomfort that the idea held less appeal than it had in the past.

Still, Cersei shook her golden head. "We must remain here. There is more at stake than you know."

As Jaime watched her quizzically, Cersei rested a gentle hand on her stomach. His eyes flew back to hers as she gave an almost imperceptible nod. His first feeling was of foreboding, then came the sudden realization that they had not shared a bed for over a year, far too long for the child to belong to him.

"Who is the father?" he asked blandly.

"You are."

Jaime gave a harsh laugh. "I most certainly am not. You've ensured as much."

Cersei stood to approach him, gaze earnest and beseeching. "Jaime, even if it is not your child, it belongs to you. I would want no other to stand beside me. After we win the Seven Kingdoms and there are no other threats, I will make it so we can be together, without fear and without hesitation."

He clasped the hands that had been stretching toward his face and pulled them down to hover between their chests. "Cersei, there will always be another threat. All that has happened, all that _is_ happening… perhaps it is the judgment of the gods for our relationship."

Her expression went flat, then turned to wry amusement. "How quaint. There are no gods, Jaime, don't you see? We are the closest thing to gods that Westeros has ever seen."

Jaime's stomach dropped at the casual dismissal of the gods. Even if he had not seen them with his own eyes, the twins had learned about the gods at their mother's knee. He could hear her sweet voice singing a lullaby about the Seven even now.

"Even if that were so," he said carefully, "there are other matters we must discuss."

"If you say a single word about Euron Greyjoy..." Cersei began with a longsuffering expression, but Jaime had run short on patience.

"The dead march on Westeros."

Cersei paled so abruptly that Jaime reached to steady her, but she stepped backward. "How did you see it? The raven arrived less than an hour ago."

"Raven?" he asked dumbly.

She nodded, handing him a raven scroll bound with simple twine. "I do not believe a word of it, of course, but you may decide for yourself if this is the judgment of the gods."

Jaime loosed the binding with and unrolled the scroll with difficulty, not only from his golden hand, but from the shaking in his flesh hand as well.

* * *

A raven flew through the window and dropped a scroll on the desk before fluttering back outside. Tyrion seized and opened it rapidly, scanning the contents so quickly that Kyren suspected he had not truly read the words.

"Well?" Daenerys asked, voice tight.

Tyrion dropped his hands and addressed her steadily. "Cersei will meet with us, though Jaime writes that she is skeptical of the Night King and his armies."

"We knew she would be," Ser Davos pointed out. "We've already planned for it."

Jon sighed, the warmth of his breath creating a hint of a cloud in the chilled room. "It would have been far easier if she had simply believed."

With a shrug, Tyrion told him, "That would go against all of human nature, to believe something so fantastical without a shred of proof."

"More importantly," Kyren pointed out, "if she had not been skeptical, it probably would have meant that she had a trap of some kind planned."

Daenerys turned to frown at Kyren. "You believe that she does not have something planned?"

"No, but she will not have us executed the moment we arrive, which was a concern," Kyren admitted with a shrug. "She may still have a trap in mind, but we've eliminated one possibility."

"Has she truly slipped so far?" Varys asked. "Cersei was never one for subtlety, but she was certainly a better strategist than dear dead Robert Baratheon."

"Power has not been good to her," Gendry told him. Kyren wondered absently if it rankled to hear his father so disparaged, but he seemed unconcerned. "If she is not fully mad already, the battle for King's Landing will likely do it."

"All the more reason for her to be removed from power," Daenerys said firmly, looking to Jon. "How soon do you intend to leave?"

Jon thought for a moment. "It is early yet. I will have my men prepare the ship today and we will sail with the tide at dawn tomorrow morning."

"My Dothraki and Unsullied will assist you," she told him, nodding to Mhorgo and the ever-silent Grey Worm. Both left the chamber immediately to set the men to their appointed tasks.

"Perhaps a smaller group of my men can go to mine more dragonglass," Jon ventured. "We will need a great deal if we are to face the Night King's army."

A speculative light lit in Daenerys's eyes and Kyren fought not to roll her own. Daenerys's free gift of dragonglass had been a major reason Jon had warmed up to her, but since Jon had accepted the peace offering, she had been not-so-subtly attempting to parlay the gift into Jon bending the knee. Even as Kyren braced to keep her expression blank through yet another overture, Tyrion cut his queen off.

"A marvelous idea. Perhaps Gendry can assist. I'm certain he has quite the eye for weaponry after such a length of time apprenticed to a forge. In the interim, Theon, will you remain with us? The queen wishes to learn if you have any further information about your uncle's new fleet."

Daenerys looked murderous at the interruption, but everyone else quickly rose, bowed to the queen, and retreated from the chamber. It was difficult to decide who looked more uncomfortable as they departed: Tyrion or Theon.

As she stepped into the relative warmth of the corridor, Kyren's thoughts turned to the Ironborn man. Theon had glanced at her only a handful of times and spoken far fewer, but she had made little effort to speak to him in turn. Jon had confided what little he knew had happened to Sansa at the hands of her husband Ramsay Bolton - how Kyren had relished the story of his death! - and the scraps he knew of Theon's story. The details made Kyren a touch more sympathetic to Theon, but did little in the way of introducing potential conversational topics.

After the door to the queen's strategy chamber had closed, Gendry turned to Jon expectantly. "Shall we go to the mines? We should be able to get quite a bit of dragonglass over the day if we start now. You're welcome to come along, Kyren."

Kyren smiled at Gendry, who had been shockingly accepting of her strange and unladylike behavior, but Jon shook his head before she could accept. "I must speak with Kyren before I join you in the mines. For now, I will send any of our men who can be spared without undue notice."

Gendry nodded and walked purposefully toward the mines while Jon softly ordered a handful of northern soldiers nearby to accompany Gendry and follow his instructions exactly. With that done, he turned to Kyren, who regarded him curiously.

"It would be best if we found a place with some privacy," he said, not quite meeting her eyes before he strode away.

With a frown, Kyren followed him into a small chamber, likely intended to be the sleeping chamber for a visiting noble that the master of Dragonstone did not particularly care for.

Jon did not speak for several long moments and Kyren broke the silence with an uncomfortable laugh. "Come, Jon, surely it cannot be so difficult to speak with me? Just say what you need and we can go begin loading the ship or mining for dragonglass. There is no shortage of tasks to complete if we are to leave tomorrow morning-"

"I must ask you to remain behind."

Kyren blinked at the blunt statement. "Why?"

"The Night King is dangerous. I've seen his armies butcher entire cities of wildlings only to raise the dead to join his armies. I cannot ask you to join us."

"You do not have to ask," Kyren said, frowning once more. "I served no king for a long time, but now I've pledged myself into your service."

"Then serve me by remaining here," he said, still turned from her. "You are my peace offering to Daenerys Targaryen. I have offered your services as a personal guard and she has accepted."

Kyren's head reeled so suddenly that it felt strange not to stagger, but she forced a carefree laugh. "Surely you jest! The Dragon Queen has an army of Unsullied and an entire Dothraki horde to protect her."

"There are benefits by forging a closer relationship with this queen. Cersei faces certain deposition from the throne, if not death. If we can earn the favor of the new queen so early, we stand to gain much."

"And what need is there for the King in the North to curry favor with a southern queen?" Kyren asked.

"King in the North has been a rather unlucky title so far," Jon pointed out, stooped to examine the engravings on the chamber's hearth. "This effort is far more important. The North will always be hard to rule, independent to a fault and fond of its own, but Daenerys has a real chance at ruling Westeros. We can do nothing without her favor, and you could perhaps gain that for the benefit of the North as a whole."

"Jon, I- I cannot. I have obligations in Westeros..."

"What, to find and protect Sansa and Ayra? Sansa is safe at Winterfell, guarded by a much stronger knight than you have hope of becoming." Something in the silence must have betrayed how stricken Kyren felt, as Jon hastened to add, "That is not to say that your efforts have been in vain these many years, but your quest to protect the Stark family has ended."

"And what of Arya?" Kyren asked stubbornly, kicking her chin up. "Do you truly wish to abandon her to the chill of the coming winter?"

Jon sighed heavily. "Kyren, I have held hope for so long, but I can do so no longer. It is likely that Arya died many years ago and we shall never know anything more of her. Do not mistake me: I would sacrifice much were it not so, but you cannot continue to give all of your potential in searching a path which has every chance of ending without resolution."

Kyren shook her head. The feeling of responsibility she had carried for the past years of her life dissolved, as did any sense of usefulness. It was rather like taking a step on a boat in a storm, only to find that the deck had dropped from under one's foot. She was left stumbling.

"Daenerys needs a personal guard who can pose as a lady-in-waiting or advisor. You seem unthreatening to those who do not know you, but you are also the last swordsman trained by Jaime Lannister, which makes you a valuable asset."

"You- You've offered me as a sellsword," Kyren said, the hurt evident in her voice despite how much she tried to fight it.

Jon finally turned to her at that, dark eyes filled with sadness and regret. "I've offered you as a trusted ally to a foreign ruler whose assistance we need. It is only temporary: you are to accompany Dany to meet Cersei and will journey north with us afterward."

His use of a shortened name for the Dragon Queen did not escape Kyren's notice and she bowed her head stiffly. "As you command, my king."

"I know you do not trust her, Kyren. This allows for you to watch over her for evidence of treachery. I trust you to do what is right." Kyren only nodded and Jon gave a sad sort of smile. "When we were children, you forever went on about being a knight. I am still King in the North until Daenerys takes King's Landing. I could knight you now for services to the crown."

Kyren returned his smile, but gently shook her head. "I thank you for the offer, but I must decline."

Her refusal ended their conversation and they left the empty chambers in silence. Kyren was filled with regret and dissatisfaction, but she still assisted with mining dragonglass for weapons. It was mind-numbing work, which had the unfortunate effect of allowing Kyren plenty of time to think about the respect she had lost for Jon.

* * *

It was a truly strange thing, how much perspective a single experience could give. Even a touch of knowledge was enough to set a person fully apart from the standard novice.

Such were the thoughts of Jaime Lannister as the other attendees of the royal conference _ooh_ ed and tittered over their first encounter with a dragon. It was a pity, Jaime reflected, that Bronn had retreated before the Dragon Queen had arrived. Jaime was attempting to remain stoic, but he could feel the exasperation building in his face. These people would not find themselves nearly so entertained should the beast have been flying toward them spouting flame from its maw.

However, with the dragons arrived and their mother in attendance, the conference could at last begin.

Daenerys Targaryen approached the dais set for her at leisure. While the majority of the conference watched her progress raptly, Jaime fixed his attention to the others she had brought. To the left of the Lannister dais was one occupied by the northerners. It was small, only seating Jon Snow, Brienne of Tarth, and an older gentleman - Ser Davos Seaworth, if Jaime did not miss his guess. On the right side of the main dais was the one belonging to the Dragon Queen and her people. Surrounding her empty chair were an Essosi female, an Unsullied soldier, Varys the Spider, and Theon Greyjoy. To the right of the empty chair was Tyrion, and Jaime's throat tightened to see his brother bedecked in black and wearing the symbol of the Hand pinned to his small chest. He distracted himself by attempting to recognize the man who would sit to Daenerys's left. He was an old knight, to be sure, but one Jaime had never known. He looked grim as a Northman and something about the resolve in his eyes spoke for House Mormont, but there was no way to be certain.

As Daenerys finally settled into her chair, she raised a slim hand and a final figure came to stand just behind her. The person was small and dressed in armor built of dark leather. A cowl-like hood - practical in the winter chill - kept most of the face hidden, but Jaime realized with foreboding that he recognized the set of that jaw with ease. It would seem that Kyren Asheworth was not in Essos as he had hoped, but had somehow managed to find her way into the service of the Dragon Queen.

"We've been here for some time," Cersei began icily, piqued that their spread of royalty - made more impressive through virtue of wealth - had been upstaged by a beautiful young woman on the back of a creature from ancient legend.

"My apologies," the Dragon Queen replied, a certain stiffness in her voice removing all the grace of her courteous response.

An ill-timed winter wind swept through, ruffling the scarlet hangings above their heads and pushing Kyren's hood further from her face. Her parchment eyes moved to their dais, settling first on Cersei, then resting on Jaime.

Cersei's lip curled. "I wonder if you have a truly accurate idea of me, Daenerys Targaryen. Your collection of advisors seems mostly made up of unhappy citizens who have been dismissed from my service."

"I believe I have quite an accurate idea. All that my advisors have told me is proven by your actions," Daenerys said firmly.

"Perhaps if I were to accept those who have displeased you, I would learn much about the way your mind works," Cersei returned.

Daenerys Targaryen's mouth curled into an incongruously gentle smile. "Most of those who have displeased me are dead."

Cersei tsked. "That hardly sounds like the merciful queen I have heard so much of." The mocking smile fell from her face as she became serious. "But it does sound like the Targaryen way: fire and blood and a bend toward madness. You wonder why I refuse to give my kingdom over to the daughter of a man who did his best to burn it only a score of years ago?"

Tyrion stepped forward, drawing the attention of the rival queens. "We are a group of people who do not like one another," he started.

However, Tyrion had spoken for only a moment before he was interrupted by Euron Greyjoy, the bloody fool. Jaime watched with derision as the Greyjoy moron threatened his nephew, then insulted Tyrion. Even if he had not been brother to two people there, he was the Hand of a rival ruler and causing offence was a grave error. At last, Jaime was free to speak.

"Perhaps you ought to sit down," he said sharply, rolling his eyes as Tyrion met his gaze.

"Sit down or leave," Cersei confirmed, and her colossal guard lumbered forward to reinforce the command. Euron only laughed and returned to his seat. As Tyrion began once again, Jaime wished he had altered his order to force Euron from the conference altogether.

When Tyrion and Cersei began descending into arguments about the purpose of the meeting, Jon Snow stepped forward. The boy Jaime remembered had grown into an imposing man, cutting a figure that was made all the more impressive by his traditional Northern wolf-fur cloak. He warned about the Night King, a being who could raise the dead and force them to fight in his army, an army that could not be killed. Though his story was incredible and Jaime could feel the disbelief radiating from those in his party, there was something in the man's eyes… It was reflected on the faces of the Dragon Queen's party as well. They _believed_ this, thought it to be utter truth.

Cersei, as Jaime had expected, did not believe a word of it. Instead, she flatly accused the Targaryen girl of seeking to expand and solidify her position without the interference of the Lannister armies. It would be a clever plan, Jaime freely admitted in the privacy of his thoughts, but there was something about the expressions of the other parties. They were not sneaking or attempting to wheedle an advantage. Perhaps there was something to this…

"There is no conversation which will erase the last fifty years," Tyrion told them, stepping up to fix Jaime and Cersei with an earnest stare. "We have something to show you."

The Hound came struggling up toward them, bearing a large crate on his back. He undid the locks with a cautious nature that would look more at home in a maid opening a trap containing a rat than the fearless Clegane. Cersei glanced at Jaime once, and he lifted his eyebrows to silently tell her had no idea what to expect, either. The top of the crate finally slid open and the Hound stepped back, kicking it from behind so that the contents tumbled toward the main dais.

At first, Jaime's eyes could not understand what it was. A collection of bones and hair and scraps of clothing and blue, blue eyes. It came running toward Cersei directly, screeching and gnashing the teeth of its exposed jaw. She started back and Jaime lurched to his feet, grasping at his sword hilt with his false right hand for the first time since just after its removal.

Just as it reached them and Jaime fumbled to unsheathe his sword with his functional left hand, the creature reached the end of a chain that had been placed around its neck. The Hound, standing on the other end, was the only thing preventing it from reaching them as it was so desperately trying to do. With a mighty pull, the Hound levered the thing from its feet and it fell to its back, screeching loudly all the while and struggling to stand while also snatching at any who surrounded it too closely. Abruptly, it rose to its feet and caught sight of the Hound. In a flash of human understanding that Jaime would not have ascribed to it, the thing recognized that the Hound was preventing it from further hunting and ran full-out to attack him. The Hound drew his sword and sliced the thing in half and Jaime relaxed, believing the threat to have ended.

He was wrong.

The creature, now in two pieces, continued struggling back toward the Hound. Not the muscle contractions of a man who had been cut in twain and was now fighting to escape his death, but actual movement. Clegane chopped off an arm next and the creature seemed not to notice. It continued moving - and so did the hand. Qyburn retrieved the severed limb and watched as its rotting fingers twitched, his face a mask of fascination and awe.

He passed the arm over to Jon Snow, who had appeared in the thick of the action, holding an unlit torch. Ser Davos lit the torch as Jon said, "We can destroy them with fire." He illustrated the claim by holding the torch against the arm until it caught fire and the thing squirming on the ground cried out still more horribly.

Jon dropped the still-burning arm and passed the torch to Ser Davos. "And we can destroy them with dragonglass," he told them, drawing a large dragonglass dagger from a sheath bound to his breast. "If we don't win this fight, then that is the fate of every person in the world."

He strode quickly to the creature and lifted it by its remaining arm to deliver a quick slice to its chest. The creature gave a last shriek and collapsed slowly to dangle from Jon's grip. He dropped it to the ground unceremoniously and approached the main dais to speak to Cersei directly.

With the solemn expression that sat so naturally on his face, he told her, "There is only one war that matters: The Great War. And it is here."

"I didn't believe it until I saw them," Daenerys Targaryen admitted, sounding human for the first time. "I saw them all."

"How many?" Jaime asked numbly, trying to figure if they had any chance of surviving this storm.

"One hundred thousand, at least," she said, her estimate flooring him. They had no hope.

Euron stepped down from the dais to study the finally-still creature more closely. "Can they swim?"

"No," Jon told him.

"Good," Euron replied, his ever-present smirk at last absent. "I'm taking the Iron Fleet back to the Iron Islands."

"What are you talking about?" Cersei asked, eyes narrowed.

Euron shook his head. "I've been around the world, seen things you couldn't imagine. This is the first thing I've ever seen that scares me." He approached the Dragon Queen. "I'm going back to my island. You should go back to yours. When winter's over, we'll be the only ones left alive."

With that advice delivered, he left. Cersei spoke slowly, "He is right to be afraid, but a coward to run. If those things come for us, there will be no kingdoms left to rule and all this will have been for nothing." She looked directly at Daenerys. "The crown accepts your truce."

Jaime relaxed slightly into his chair and watched cautious smiles light on the faces of those at the conference. It was clear that none had expected for Cersei to see reason. However, Jaime's tension returned abruptly when Cersei began to outline terms for the truce. She was using the voice she used when she believed she had won, and it plucked at every one of Jaime's nerves. Her terms were simple: the North and Jon Snow would remain neutral, neither assisting nor fighting the army of either queen as they assisted with the Night King. She asked it of him as Ned Stark's son, one who would honor his vows.

Jon Snow - the simple, honest man - refused. "I cannot serve two queens. And I have already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen."

Cersei clenched her jaw. "Then there is nothing left to discuss. The dead will come north first, enjoy dealing with them. We will deal with whatever is left of you."

With that, she swept from the conference, followed closely by Qyburn and her personal guards. Tyrion spoke lowly to Daenerys Targaryen, assuring that he would follow Cersei and attempt to reason with her. As he left, the Dragon Queen stood, fury on her fair face. "This is a clear breach in diplomacy. The meeting is now ended."

Giving a shrill whistle, her large dragon appeared once more and allowed her to climb onto its back. She was gone in only minutes, leaving the rest of the gathered assembly to stare uncomfortably at one another.

At last, Jon Snow stepped forward once more. "I believe that marks the end of the official negotiations. I only wish they had been more productive."

Jaime agreed with all his being. If they were to face an army of creatures like the one that had been in the foul-smelling crate still sitting discarded on the dais, Westeros was in a great deal of trouble indeed. And despite what his sister seemed to believe, Jaime did not favor their chances of victory when the Army of the Dead was swelled by resurrected wildlings and Northmen.

While he studied the empty crate, Jaime's eyes fell on Kyren. She looked a mixture of concern, exasperation, and wry amusement as she spoke lowly to Jon.

Jaime stood abruptly, drawing the eyes of those who still remained assembled. "Allow me to escort you to your ship. I expect you'll want to wait for my brother, but I wouldn't want for some overzealous citizen to attempt to earn favor with the queen."

"I'll stay to bring the little Lannister back," the Hound rumbled.

"I will as well," Brienne announced. "My squire is drinking with Bronn anyway. I expect they will not return for some time yet."

Jaime nodded and the remainder of the Northern and Targaryen parties rose obligingly. The Mormont knight led the way, followed closely by Jon Snow and Ser Davos. Varys trailed behind them with the Essosi woman, the Unsullied soldier keeping close watch on both. Jaime and Kyren brought up the rear of the group. A ring of Dothraki warriors surrounded the entirety of the party, including one young man who stuck close to Kyren for the beginning of the trek to the docks.

"I had hoped not to find you here, Kyren," Jaime began.

She shot him a sharp look, one eyebrow raised. "I had not realized that I was under any obligation toward your hopes, Ser Jaime."

He could not fight back a grin at her sharp reply. "I had hoped you would have the sense to flee to Essos after escaping my sister."

"I have had enough of Essos, I believe," Kyren said, touching the faded scar on her neck. The distance in her eyes disappeared abruptly as she turned to him. "You knew what your sister intended for me and you meant to do nothing?"

"No, I did not know her intentions until after you had left." She looked disbelieving and Jaime pulled them to a stop, grasping both of her hands in his own. Kyren did not flinch at the touch of his false hand as he peered beseechingly at her. "Kyren, I vow it to the Seven: I did not know her intentions for you. When I discovered what she had meant to do, I was more frightened than I have ever been."

Kyren's eyes and mouth softened. "Jaime…"

Rough speech interrupted her and a Dothraki warrior appeared by their side. He scowled at their joined hands, speaking to Kyren in a language Jaime could not understand. From the vague confusion on Kyren's face, he wagered that she could not, either. "We are fine, Mhorgo."

He frowned still more fiercely, but moved away. Jaime turned to Kyren and asked drolly, "Another lover?"

"Not that he is a concern of yours, but no. He wishes to be, but the Dothraki mount their women the way stallions mount mares and with little more regard."

Jaime stared at her, uncertain whether to be more horrified by the blunt description or by the practiced way she had delivered it. "I beg your pardon?" he settled for asking.

"Queen Daenerys was very descriptive about relations with the Dothraki. She has told me more than once what Mhorgo wishes to do with me and in no uncertain terms," Kyren's tone with light, but her eyes had tightened.

Jaime had no response to that, so settled for giving her hand a squeeze before allowing them to catch up with the rest of the party. "Do you truly intend to serve her?"

"Better her than Cersei," Kyren replied, though there was still a tone that said she was repeating what she had been told.

"Are you frightened of those creatures?"

She shot him another look. "I know I lack a royal education, Ser Jaime Lannister, but I am no fool. Naturally I fear those creatures, as should any person with enough sense to breathe."

Jaime laughed despite himself. "Ah, Kyren, I have missed you."

"Have you?" she asked skeptically. "I should think you would have been glad to be rid of me."

"I find myself constantly surrounded by those who stroke my ego in hope that I will start shedding gold. Your honesty is refreshing and your wit is keen. I have found myself missing you far more often than is wise in the past years."

She remained silent for quite some time, long enough for Jaime to accept that he had either insulted or embarrassed the poor woman, but when Kyren finally spoke, it was to admit softly, "I have missed you as well."

"Have you?" he asked, unwitting repeating her earlier question - though with more shock than skepticism.

"Yes. Now will you start shedding gold?" He laughed, but the impish smile fell from her face. "I honestly have missed you. You are a good man, despite what you tell people and the mask you wear when you try to hide your feelings. You are one of the truest knights I have ever had the honor to have met."

Jaime slowed to a halt, staring openly at her as she stopped as well. Without preamble, he grasped her hand to tug her close and lowered his mouth to meet hers. To his pleased surprise, she met his passion with her own and they were lost to their surroundings until a pointed cough reached them.

When he raised his head, it was to find Varys watching them with a small smile. "I hate to interrupt, but we are about to cross into King's Landing proper. I very much doubt if certain benefactors would be pleased to discover this... entanglement."

The Spider was right, damn him, but to be parted from Kyren now seemed the worst of punishments. She seemed to feel the same and, when they walked, it was so closely that her hand brushed his thigh nearly as often as his did hers.

In this manner, they crossed the city to the docks and Jaime could not remember the last time he had been so happy and at ease.

* * *

Author's Note \- Sorry for the cheese, I just needed a little bit of a happy ending for this one because real life is super stressful right now. I tried to straddle the line between explaining what was going on during the meeting between Dany and Cersei, and writing word-for-word. I ended up having to condense some of the lines because this chapter is already the longest one of the story and it still didn't cover everything I wanted to. Please, please remember that this is where the AU starts! Don't yell at me for changing events because that's going to continue happening more and more throughout the rest of the story. (In thanks for your patience, the end is going to be in about five more chapters, incidentally.) As an additional head's up, the next chapter will cover the Battle of Winterfell and will potentially be told from various perspectives rather than only through Kyren and Jaime. Just roll with it and I'll do my best to make it as non-jarring as possible.

A big thank you to my guest reviewer on the last chapter! I appreciate you!

Thanks for reading, have a wonderful day, and I'll see you in about a month for the next chapter!


	37. Chapter Thirty-Six

**The Worth of Ash**

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the rights to _Game of Thrones_ or any related titles, characters, plots, settings, etc. These right are the sole property of George R.R. Martin, HBO, and their various publishers and distributors. I own only the original elements of this story, the writing and publishing of which earn me no money.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Six

Under different circumstances, Kyren would have enjoyed the chaos under Winterfell's roof. Not only were various leaders of several armies mixing together, but the entirety of Winterfell was in an uproar after Sansa had accused Petyr Baelish of treachery and sentenced him to death, a sentence which was carried out by Arya. Jaqen H'ghar silently wandered the halls, making more than a few battle-hardened warriors nervous. Tormund Giantsbane bellowed with laughter on a regular basis and flirted with every woman who moved, causing quite a bit of offense among the maids, and Jon and Daenerys Targaryen were rarely seen outside of each other's company. Arya and Sansa were nigh inseparable, and constantly guarded by both Brienne of Tarth and the Hound. To everyone's amusement, Lyanna Mormont had earned the respect of a number of wildlings who followed her constantly, chuckling at every sharp-tongued insult she tossed their way. It was the kind of furor Kyren would have loved had they not been living under the constant threat of the Night King and the Army of the Dead.

The reunion between Jon and Arya had brought tears to Kyren's eyes and she was far from the only one. Jon especially seemed to be biting back his emotions as he embraced the sister he had believed to be dead not a month prior. Kyren had not been certain of what to expect from the younger Stark daughter, but Arya had offered her an embrace as well.

"You've grown up strong as you always wanted and beautiful to boot," Kyren told her quietly.

"You look exactly the same as when I last saw you," Arya said, the warmth in her voice making it a compliment.

It was the last chance they had to speak for quite some time as both had gotten caught up in the preparations for the Night King's arrival. Even if they had not, Kyren tended to avoid the company of the Stark girls for the sheer fact that they were determined to dislike Daenerys, who so obviously returned the sentiment.

Upon one of the few times Kyren had been in a room with both Sansa and Daenerys, the latter had glanced between the other two with a smirk and said, "The pair of you could almost be sisters."

Sansa and Kyren met eyes and Kyren was relieved to find none of the old competitive anger that had filled the Stark girl at such comments. Still, Sansa's voice was icy as she replied, "I have one sister already and no need of any more."

The insult was not directed at Kyren, but she still had to repress a shudder, especially as Daenerys returned, "With such handsome brothers, you may be forced to adjust your needs."

Sansa's lips had thinned as she silently acknowledged the Dragon Queen's subtle warning. If the two had shared each other's company without benefit of an audience after that point, Kyren did not know, but she had been fortunate enough to avoid witnessing any such event.

In the name of preparations to be made, Bran had been able to spy for them using abilities Kyren was too scared to question, putting himself in the body of a bird near the Wall and discovering that the Night King had broken through - and that he had resurrected Viserion, the dragon Daenerys had lost when she went to help capture the wight to show Cersei. The delivery of that news had been one of the few times Kyren had ever seen the Dragon Queen look uncertain.

There had been an uproar late one night when Jaime Lannister arrived at the gates of Winterfell, alone. The armies Cersei had promised, the ones he was to lead, were nowhere to be found. Kyren had never heard of a court being called so late in the evening, but Sansa and Daenerys presided over the Great Hall of Winterfell, a crackling fire lit at their backs. Jon stood nearby and Tyrion was seated beside Daenerys, but the two women were clearly the ones Jaime would have to sway.

Fortunately, despite Daenerys's clear dislike of Jaime and Sansa's suspicion of him, Jaime had won the ability to remain at Winterfell with the help of Brienne and Kyren speaking for his trustworthiness. This was not to say that he had nothing to say in his own defense; he had spoken quite powerfully when Daenerys had accused him of murdering her father in cold blood. He had reminded her unflinchingly of what the Mad King had ordered done to the people of King's Landing. Daenerys had seemed more accepting of the explanation than Kyren had guessed she would, but with such a war to wage, it would be foolish in the extreme to turn away willing soldiers, especially ones with as much experience as Ser Jaime possessed.

After Ser Jaime's acceptance into Winterfell, every interaction between he and Kyren had been met with pointed stares from several parties, most often Tyrion and Sansa, though Daenerys watched them with more than a little suspicion. As such, the two kept their limited meetings formal unless they were blessed with privacy - though, fragile as such a state was in the crowded castle, they did little more than talk and link hands.

In truth, the person most severely affected by Jaime's arrival had been Tyrion. The Dragon Queen had not taken the news of Cersei's betrayal well and her pale eyes had promised that he would regret taking his sister at her word.

The worst reactions had been caused by the sudden arrival of a woman, Melisandre. From the whispers of gathered soldiers, Kyren gleaned that she was some sort of prophetess or sorceress, one who believed in neither the Old Gods nor the New. Instead, she believed that only one existed: the Lord of Light. She could do wondrous, terrible things with the power he had given her, and she was known to use her beauty just as much as her power to ensnare and bewitch men, but the men Kyren knew were also nervous to find her arrived. Gendry especially - having rarely left Arya's side until then - melted into the background as soon as he caught sight of her burgundy cloak.

When calm, steady Ser Davos caught sight of the new arrival, however, his reaction put the rest to shame. The man - one Kyren had never seen angry - drew his sword and held it at the ready in a double-handed grip, clearly ready to take Melisandre's head with a single strike of the blade.

"Davos!" Jon shouted, echoed closely by Kyren and Tyrion.

Several of the others who had grown to know the ex-smuggler were shocked as well and attempted to calm him, but Davos was insistent that he would kill her as he had sworn to do. Melisandre only watched the uproar with her lovely face bearing a condescending smile, a smile which only grew at Daenerys's firm order: "You will stand down, Ser Davos."

"You do not understand, Highness," Davos argued openly, refusing to move his eyes from Melisandre. "This woman killed an innocent girl, burned her alive, bound to a stake before her parents and an army. I vowed I would kill her should I ever have the misfortune to see her again."

Danaerys considered this for a long moment, but shook her head slowly. "She will not be harmed. Her survival is vital to our success."

"But your Majesty!"

Still smiling, Melisandre gave Davos a pitying look. "Only death can pay for life. Had the princess lived, Jon Snow would have remained dead."

Kyren glanced at Jon, who appeared both disgusted and horrified that his current life was dependent on the death of a young girl.

"That isn't true," a nonchalant voice disagreed. The buzzing of conversations around the hall halted abruptly as everyone turned to stare at Beric Dondarrian. "I've died six times now and Thoros - Lord of Light keep his soul - never killed another being to make it so."

Melisandre stood silent, face suddenly drawn and paler than it had been thus far. Danaerys looked at her, waiting patiently until it became apparent that the priestess had no ready response. With the air of explaining a simple fact to a small child, she said, "Perhaps Thoros killed when you were away from him."

Beric gave a small chuckle. "You don't understand the Brotherhood Without Banners, Queen. We are always in sight of a brother. Is that not right, Clegane?"

The Hound grunted and Kyren wondered how she had managed not to see his hulking form in the crowd before that point. "True enough. Can't take a piss without five cunts watching."

The dull sound of whispered conversations grew louder until Danaerys stood. "While this has been quite interesting, my decision stands. By order of the Queen, no one shall lay a hand on the Lady Melisandre."

Slowly, Jon stepped forward. "My Queen, perhaps we should discuss-"

"By order of the Queen," Danaerys repeated firmly, sweeping away.

When Daenerys and Melisandre had gone - the former accompanied as always by Missandei, Grey Worm, Ser Jorah, and Tyrion - Tormund looked to Davos. "Did the red-haired witch truly kill a girl?"

Davos nodded, his faded blue eyes distant as he finally sheathed his sword. "She did. Her name was Shireen. She never did anything but help. She was guilty only of being the daughter of Stannis Baratheon."

Tormund squinted. "Brave little thing, one side of her face burnt near as bad as the Hound's?"

"It was greyscale," Davos corrected with surprise in his tone. "How do you know of her?"

"She visited Mace when we were locked up in the dungeons of the Wall."

She did?" Davos seemed more fond than shocked now, a hint of a smile around his mouth.

"Aye, she did. Said she wanted to understand why he did what he did, what we were fighting for in the North. She was a good lass, had the makings of a better ruler than Stannis or that Queen downstairs. She didn't deserve to die."

"No, she didn't," Davos agreed, voice thick.

"You should have run that witch through while you had her at swordpoint."

"Dany forbade him to," Jon reminded. "We need her to light the fires on the battlefield."

Tormund shot Jon an unimpressed look. "As if she's the only person around here who can light a fire? Truth is that the white-haired Dragon has only one thing in mind."

"Survival," Jon said sharply.

Davos looked murderous, but Tormund rested a restraining hand on the older man's shoulder. "You know better than that, King in the North. That woman is protecting only one thing and it is her own interests. A true leader decides for the good of his people."

Jon shook his head, plainly irritated. "She is our queen. So long as you're south of the Wall, she is yours as well. Have a care how you speak."

With that, Jon moved away, leaving Davos, Kyren, and Tormund confused and upset. When he was gone from earshot, Davos sighed frustratedly. "I don't understand why he won't speak against her."

"Because she's pretty," Tormund told him plainly. "She's pretty and she wants him and it's hard for any man to see past that."

Kyren made a sound of disagreement. "I think you aren't giving Jon enough credit. I think he has at last realized that Daenerys is not good for Westeros. He is still attempting to accept it."

Tormund snorted. "I think that woman would rather see your Seven Kingdoms destroyed than allow them to slip from her. As for the witch, give her no further thought, Davos. Things have a way of resolving themselves." Tormund gave Davos a commiserating pat on the shoulder and walked away.

The next morning, preparations for the battle with thick around Winterfell. Perhaps the busiest section were the forges. Winterfell's forges were thick with activity as Gendry directed every man with a hint of ability to form weapons from the Dragonglass taken from Dragonstone. Additionally, the forge in the small town outside of Winterfell's walls was bustling as Adarien Graen - long since moved up to head blacksmith after completing his apprenticeship - worked from Gendry's instructions to make Dragonglass weapons.

Kyren received a raven at breakfast from Adarien, inviting her to his forge to see something he had been working on for some time. As she re-rolled the scroll and tucked it away in a pocket, Jaime Lannister slid into the spot across from her.

"Who is sending you missives?" he asked with the arch of a golden eyebrow - though the gold was shot through with more silver than Kyren had remembered seeing.

"Adarien Graen, a friend who operates the smith's forge outside the walls. He bade me come visit," she answered plainly, finishing her meager breakfast as she finished speaking. Winterfell's supplies were being badly taxed by hosting three separate armies, despite the diverse groups of men who banded together to hunt on a near-daily basis.

Jaime frowned, picking absently at his own sparse plate. "Is he the boy you were so fond of before we left for King's Landing? The one who made your daggers?"

Kyren could only blink at him. "He- Yes, he is. How is it that you know about that?"

"You told me about it, when you were injured and we shared a bed at the Crossroads Inn." Jaime frowned even more fiercely than before. "As for why I remember it, I haven't the faintest idea. Probably shock that a girl-child like you claimed to have kissed a man before."

With a half-offended chuckle, Kyren returned, "Pardon my lack of experience, O' Great Ancient One! I was not aware that I was so lacking in worldly mannerisms before seeing King's Landing."

"It seems you've adjusted rather well," he said dryly. "Why does the blacksmith wish to see you now? Does he hope to rekindle the relationship?"

"Doubtful," Kyren said flatly, refusing to respond to the teasing note in Jaime's voice. "I understand that he has been married for a number of years now and his wife has given him two sons."

"That means little," he snorted. "When do we leave?"

Kyren watched him dissect his food with care, using the golden hand as a sort of fork to hold his food in place while he cut it. She thought briefly of refusing to let him join her, but decided against it. He had a familiar look in his emerald eyes, one that said he would not back down. She sighed and told him, "As soon as possible."

It was a fairly pleasant meeting, made slightly uncomfortable only when Adarien offered a familiar embrace upon their meeting. With a glare from Ser Jaime, Adarien had released her and stepped back with a confused quirk of his eyebrow in Kyren's direction. She only rolled her eyes slightly at him and he grinned in understanding.

"I know the two of you are as busy with your preparations as I am with mine, but I wanted to show you these, Kyren." Adarien stepped to a shelf in his forge only to return with a beautiful oak box. He handed it to Kyren without further ceremony and she balanced the surprising weight in one hand so she could lift the top with the other.

Inside, nestled against a crush of rough-spun black cloth, were seven Dragonglass-bladed daggers.

Kyren gasped shallowly and lifted one blade. It was balanced precisely as she preferred, just the way no other dagger she had found in Westeros or Essos had managed.

Adarien smiled broadly. "Test it," he encouraged, gesturing to a training mannequin standing in the corner. "I know you'll want to be sure it meets your standards."

With only that encouragement, Kyren launched the dagger at the training mannequin. It flew like a dream, firmly sticking where the mannequin's eye would be if it had been given such features. When she retrieved the dagger, its blade was still perfect, without so much as a notch along the blade.

She thanked Adarien profusely and tried to pay him, but he had refused. Further conversation had been cut short when he had been called away to assist with creating a Dragonglass axe and Kyren had left the forge with her box of daggers cradled in her arms.

Jaime remained silent until they had reached an upper hall of Winterfell. "Has he won your heart with his generous gift?"

"Adarien knows how to create daggers to the exact specifications I need for throwing," Kyren told him, too elated by the gift to resent Jaime's tone. "He has learned his craft well."

"But does he make you feel?" Jaime asked sharply. Kyren turned to fix him with the bemused stare his question deserved when he pulled her close and kissed her.

To her own shock as well as Jaime's, Kyren pushed him away. "If you want to kiss me, do so and I will welcome your affections, but you will do no such thing as a pure response to unfounded jealousy. That, I will not permit."

Jaime sighed frustratedly. "Adarien is young, strong, and whole. You have a history and a firm friendship with him while we have no sort of understanding. Do you plan for any future between the two of us?"

"Jaime, we have no way to be certain that either of us will survive the day," Kyren pointed out. "Perhaps we can survive the battle and decide on a future then?"

He looked dissatisfied with her answer and Kyren had braced herself for a rebuttal when she heard a scream, a shout, and other assorted commotion from a nearby battlement. She and Jaime exchanged concerned glances and rushed over, joined almost immediately by Jon and Ser Davos.

"What has happened?" Jon demanded.

Everyone spoke at once, the resulting frenzy of words leaving none to be understood, but Kyren saw enough gestures that she understood that someone had fallen.

Jon, having come to the same conclusion, rushed toward the wall and leaned over the edge, staring intently downward. "Who is that?"

"We…" a plainly-dressed guard started hesitantly before drawing his courage. "We believe it to be the lady Melisandre."

Jon turned about sharply. "That is not Lady Melisandre."

The guard shook his head, desperation in his every movement. "It don't look like her now, Lord Snow, but when she fell, it was her."

Kyren moved to the stone battlements and peered down, attempting to understand the guard's meaning. A woman - undeniably elderly - was sprawled awkwardly on the snow-covered ground, limbs bent at impossible angles. She wore clothing Kyren recognized as belonging to Melisandre, the priestess's customary bulky necklace lying a short distance away, half-buried in the snow.

Jon scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "The Queen will not be pleased."

When he had retreated down the stairs, posture tense at the thought of delivering such news to Daenerys, Ser Davos turned to Tormund. Kyren recalled that the giant wildling had been present before she arrived and Davos had clearly noticed the same thing. "What truly happened?"

Tormund shrugged. "She was leaning out over the battlements, trying to find the best place to stand during the battle. She fell."

"And none of you helped her?" Kyren asked.

"How could we? The Dragon Queen told us not to touch her." Tormund's grin was wicked.

Jaime gave an appreciative snort while Davos nodded deeply to Tormund, wordlessly offering his thanks. Tormund's face grew uncharacteristically serious. "The Princess can rest easily now that she has been avenged as you swore, Davos."

Davos nodded again and moved away, but Kyren caught a sheen of moisture in his eyes as he went. The crowd dispersed soon afterward, no one certain of what to do with Melisandre's body and none wishing to be present when Daenerys Targaryen came to investigate the incident.

Kyren found herself alone until she bumped into Bran and Meera on one of the lower levels of Winterfell. She nodded and attempted a cheery greeting, but her mood was somewhat dampened by the scene she had just witnessed.

Bran cut into her platitudes without preamble. "He's by the old stone bridge."

Kyren blinked at him, but Bran only watched her peacefully and Meera seemed unbothered by the abrupt nature of his comment. With no other recourse, she thanked him and started for the old stone bridge.

It was indeed old; the bridge had been constructed before recent memory could explain, but it was wide enough to allow a cart to cross the rushing river and sturdy enough to hold a large hunting party. The bridge-shaded waterside just south of Winterfell had been a favorite spot for Kyren, Theon, and the Stark children to spend a lazy afternoon playing at swordfights, or reading, or any one of the hundred ways they had passed the time in their shared childhood.

That shaded clearing was Kyren's destination now, though it seemed less full of wonder - due to her own age or the cold chill of winter, she could not decide. However, the clearing did seem changed in a more real sense as well: a lush carpet of Dragon's Tears grew as if in defiance of the frozen ground. Kyren smiled at the familiar sight of the grey leaves and sank to her knees where they grew the thickest.

Thankfully, she had brought a sack that once contained her lunch rations, empty now as the scant mouthfuls had been devoured on the journey from Winterfell. With a mind focused on the coming battle, Kyren plucked handful after handful of the Dragon's Tears into her bag.

Her thoughts were far away, but Kyren was brought abruptly back to the present when a patch of Dragon's Tears had been removed to reveal a human skull. She lurched back, falling on her rear and dropping the bag of Dragon's Tears as memories of the wight raced through her. After a long, heart-pounding moment, no movement came from the patch of Dragon's Tears and Kyren carefully moved upright once more.

Ever-cautiously, she pulled the dull grey leaves of the Dragon's Tears away until she had uncovered a full skeleton. Kyren stood for a long moment, studying the tattered remains of a cloak that the skeleton still wore and nearly choked as she recognized the rough-wrought chain as belonging to Maester Luwin. She had heard he had died, but to have come to such a sacred spot... It was fitting, she decided. If he had to be dead, Maester Luwin belonged in this idyllic place, forever watching the river rush by.

She tucked the cloak around him more firmly and gathered a final few handfuls of Dragon's Tears. Just before she left, Kyren's hand bumped against something solid and more angular than the frozen ground. She dug through the chilled leaves until she found a package wrapped in an oilskin and - opening it carefully - found Maester Luwin's book of remedies and medicines, expertly bound and filled with the Maester's neatly slanting handwriting.

Hugging the treasure to her chest with one hand and clutching her bag of Dragon's Tears in the other, Kyren sent a watery smile at Maester Luwin and returned to Winterfell.

* * *

It would not be long until the battle now. Jaime had yet to receive an explanation of the Stark boy's strange new abilities, but he trusted when the boy said that the Night King would arrive in only a few hours.

Battlefield preparations had been completed shortly after he had made the announcement. The battle would likely take place at night and Jon had warned that the wights seemed well able to see without benefit of light, so large piles of wood and kindling had been set in the fields surrounding Winterfell, to be turned into towering bonfires with help of one of Daenerys Targaryen's dragons. The risk of having fires in open fields where fighting would happen made Jaime nervous, but Tyrion had correctly pointed out that the wights could be killed by fire and having the ability to easily push enemies to their deaths was a solid benefit. Another, smaller collection of firewood had been set around the perimeter of Winterfell, for soldiers to retreat into as needed.

It was more preparation than Jaime had seen put into a battle in quite some time, but there was little surprise to it. With the enemy they intended to face, he had still resigned himself to dying horribly before dawn.

As happened before every battle, people split up to prepare for death in whatever way they chose. Every man hoped to see the next morning, but there were no guarantees and some men spent their pre-battle hours praying or holding their loved ones. Jaime himself ended up wandering Winterfell until he found a room containing his brother, Brienne, Tormund, Podrick, and Ser Davos. He had hoped to find Kyren in the room, but she had disappeared after Melisandre had died and had yet to resurface. Giving up his hope of seeing her before the battle, Jaime eased into the room and settled into a chair by the fire to listen to the conversation.

"She's not a Ser? You're not a knight?" Tormund's voice was disbelieving as he stared at Brienne. For once, Jaime agreed with the overbearing wildling - that was a tragedy. "Why not?"

"Tradition," Brienne answered, voice bland.

"Fuck tradition," Tormund said succinctly.

"I don't even want to be a knight." It was a lie, everyone knew, and Brienne carefully avoided eye contact with the room at large.

Tormund, however, seemed disinclined to let the subject rest. "I'm no king, but if I were, I'd knight you ten times over."

Kyren slipped into the room while he made the pronouncement and moved immediately to stand in the shadows far from the group.

Jaime heard himself speak before he knew he was planning to interject. "You don't need a king," he told them, not removing his gaze from Kyren until the rest of the room watched him. "Any knight can make another knight. I'll prove it."

He drew his sword, proud that he had gained enough mobility in his left hand that the weapon left its scabbard smoothly and without struggle. He pointed the blade at the stone ground just before him. "Kneel, Lady Brienne." Rather than move, Brienne only gave a pained laugh and Jaime's patience snapped. "Do you want to be a knight or not?"

Brienne drew slowly to her feet, followed after a moment by the rest of the room's occupants. Kyren moved closer, gaining a better vantage point as Brienne lowered herself to one knee in the spot Jaime had indicated.

He held the blade over her right shoulder and recited the words - ones he had never had the chance to use, but had memorized the moment he realized how many deserving warriors surrounded him: "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." He moved the blade to hover over her left shoulder. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." Right shoulder once more. "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent." He pulled the sword back. "Arise, Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

Brienne rose to her feet once more and finally smiled as the other occupants of the room began to applaud. Tormund in particular seemed stunned by the transformation of Brienne's face with the joy-filled expression, but Kyren's was a close second. She stared at Jaime, eyes filled with light, and he felt whole for the first time since the loss of his hand.

As Brienne stepped back toward the fire, receiving toasts and congratulations all the while, Jaime moved to Kyren. In a voice pitched low to avoid interference from the others, he asked, "Do you want me to knight you as well? I would not hesitate a moment."

Kyren watched him with a smile, but the light in her eyes had begun to fade. "I thank you for the offer, but I must decline."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," she said unconvincingly, but he could not bring himself to ask why. Instead, he gave a deep nod and pulled her close for an embrace that was far more chaste than he would have wished.

When they had rejoined the others by the fire, Tyrion asked, "Kyren, will you be joining me in the cellars during the battle? We would welcome someone with your protective experience and calming demeanor."

"No, I have been set to defend the healers in Winterfell's main courtyard," Kyren denied.

Jaime frowned. "What? Who chose that?"

"It was my decision, agreed upon by Jon and Daenerys," Kyren told him, a hint of sharpness warning that the choice was not up for discussion.

"Ah," Tyrion said, gamely moving past the slight awkwardness that had arisen from her tone. "I am certain you will be a beneficial presence for the healers."

"Thank you," Kyren said politely, though Jaime knew her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders. This would likely be her first battle and nerves were to be expected.

"You could thank me far better by taking this wine away from me," Tyrion countered smoothly, passing her a full goblet. "I shall be well and truly drunk by the time the Night King arrives and I would miss the whole affair."

"Not the worst possible outcome," Davos muttered into his own cup of wine. Tyrion glared while the other residents of the room smirked with varying degrees of openness.

They passed the time talking and laughing, but as the night moved from post-dusk dimness to the true dark of full night, the tension rose noticeably and did not seem fit to stop. When the three blasts of the horn sounded, calling them to don armor and move to their battle posts, Jaime was almost thankful.

And yet, as he pulled Kyren close for a frantic kiss - one she returned with alacrity - he could not fight the spiraling chill of fear that seized his heart. There was every chance that one or the other would fall during the battle and they would never meet again and there was so much left to say…

"Do not die," he ordered, cursing his own clumsiness the next moment. The fact that Kyren grinned despite herself was enough to save him from full self-hatred, but he had no time to dwell before he was being ordered to the ramparts beside Brienne and Pod.

* * *

The towering stacks of kindling in the fields had been lit by a Daenerys-bearing Drogon, illuminating the snow on the hills and shallows with flickering golden light. It was both a blessing and a curse: the armies protecting Winterfell itself could see the collection of Northmen, wildlings, Unsullied, and Dothraki soldiers standing firm against the night, but they could also watch as the horrifying Army of the Dead came barreling out of the darkness. As more wights poured onto the battlefield, they were joined by a thick fog obscuring most of the action, though the bonfires threw exaggerated scenes into the mist.

It was clear to those watching that the Night King's army was to be far removed from anything they had previously experienced. The dead did not attack in neat waves of soldiers or with any sort of strategy at all. They merely came, sacrificing a few with the knowledge that superior numbers would overwhelm any enemy.

The moment Jon, from his vantage point on the walls of Winterfell, understood what the Army of the Dead was attempting to do, he ordered everyone back to the walls of Winterfell. The men in the fields continued fighting as they retreated and - to the shock of everyone - Grey Worm managed to kill one of the White Walkers.

A large swath of wights fell as the White Walker did, freeing a number of men as the battle seemed to pause. In the eerie battlefield silence, Tormund gave a wild laugh. "Aim for the big ones, men!"

From there, the tide of the battle seemed to have shifted somewhat: the White Walkers sent more wights in ahead so they were more difficult to kill, but when they did, there were fewer wights to be sent. Regardless of this new advantage, the Army of the Living was being forced closer and closer to the walls of Winterfell and the Night King had yet to appear. The blizzard he had brought with his armies swirled so thickly that Daenerys and Drogon were lost in the low-hanging clouds. Only the occasional jet of flame or shrieking blast of blue chill betrayed that the two were engaged in a battle of their own. Rhaegal remained just outside of Winterfell opposite the approaching army, ready to be ridden by Jon when the moment came.

At last, Jorah tensed and shouted, "There! Khaleesi!"

Daenerys seemed to have knocked the Night King from his undead mount and both had fallen to the ground of the battlefield. With an inaudible command, Daenerys ordered Drogon to blast the Night King with flame and the battlefield held its breath for a second time while they waited to see the outcome.

When Drogon's fire at last stopped, the living were horrified to find the Night King unaffected. The horror grew more palpable as he raised his arms high and re-animated the dead - both wights and the freshly-slain. The Night King fixed his pale gaze on Daenerys before looking to Jon, who had thrown himself astride Rhaegal the moment he saw Daenerys on the ground. The Night King launched an ice spear at Daenerys, knocking her from Drogon's back into a motionless huddle on the ground. He sent a second spear flying at Drogon, followed by another and another until the dragon was forced to soar away.

The Night King stepped closer to Daenerys' unmoving figure and it became clear to those watching that Jon could not reach them in time, even sitting astride a dragon. Jorah cursed, tears beginning to flow down his weathered cheeks, but at the last moment, Grey Worm tackled the Night King with an incredible force.

He fought the Night King valiantly, but the leader of the undead army soon gained the advantage and snapped Grey Worm's neck with a single wrench. Jon, having at last reached the space where the wights were beginning to converge, lifted Daenerys onto Rhaegal's back and the three flew back to Winterfell as rapidly as they could manage.

Though the living fought with twice the fervor after Jon's rescue of Daenerys, they were quickly becoming overwhelmed and soon found themselves backed into the confines of the wood encircling Winterfell. Daenerys was still unconscious and Drogon was missing in the fog while Rhaegal refused to leave Daenerys's side. The protective bonfire around Winterfell had been covered in snow by the Night King's blizzard and would not light no matter how many attempts were made.

At last, Beric Dondarrion stepped from the walls, pushed everyone back, murmured a prayer unheard by those listening, and plunged his now-flaming sword into the soaked wood. Immediately, there came a great hissing and popping and the whole of the bonfire roared into sudden flame, burning every member of the Army of the Dead who approached. Beric stood in the gap left for soldiers to enter and leave the circle, battling against any wight who tried to gain entrance to Winterfell.

"Archers!" Sir Brienne cried, having taken over leadership of the battle in Jon's absence, "Draw!" Archers along the entirety of Winterfell's perimeter nocked flaming arrows and awaited her next command. "Loose!"

Pinpoints of fire whizzed out into the seething crowd of wights around Winterfell, each hitting a target due largely to the surplus of bodies at which to aim. Brienne's orders were repeated time and again until one lucky archer struck and felled a White Walker standing buried in a mass of wights. The wights he had re-animated fell with him, a great number of them falling onto the protective bonfire around Winterfell. The wights took only a moment to respond and soon they were swarming to occupy every inch of space between the walls of Winterfell and the heat of the bonfire.

The closed gates held for only a scant few minutes before they were destroyed by the dead. As the Army of the Dead poured inside the gates and fighting grew thick, Jon raced to Bran in the Godswood, knowing that he would be the Night King's ultimate target.

While he went, the rest of the living did their best to keep from death. Jaime, Brienne, and Pod stood fighting on the ramparts, pushing away unmoving bodies until they had filled the space below and almost risen back to the spot where they fought. Ser Davos stood with Tormund and Jaqen H'ghar, each one using every underhanded and ungentlemanly trick they had ever learned to fight off wights. Gendry fought beside the Night's Watch and Ser Jorah, alternating between dispatching wights and tossing additional weapons to anyone who called for them. Arya and the Hound protected the doorway leading into Winterfell itself, his bulk and her threatening glare encouraging any who may have considered hiding to choose a different path. Lyanna Mormont and the shocking number of wildling followers she had gained stood directly in the center of Winterfell's courtyard, though the wildlings ushered the diminutive soldier under cover when the re-animated Viserion landed in the courtyard and spat a blast of ice that froze everything in sight. Kyren stood with the healers, battling away every wight that came toward them. After she had run out of daggers, she picked up a Dragonglass sword and put her lessons from Ser Jaime to good use. When the lead healer fell to a wight attack, Kyren alternated between defending the group and offering guidance to the others, thinking of Maester Luwin all the while.

When Jon finally reached the Godswood, he found a grim-faced Bran watching the door with Meera standing expressionless beside him. Theon and a few others held various places around the clearing in the Godswood, each one looking as determined and serious as Theon himself.

Jon's entrance drew every eye. "The Night King is coming," he panted.

"He is here," Bran replied steadily, and Jon turned to find that it was true.

The leader of the White Walkers strode forward, every step unhurried but firm, as though no force in Westeros would keep him from Bran, and it very well could be so. Jon had never seen anything as unsettling. Theon and his men fought valiantly, but Jon could see they hadn't the slightest chance of victory. When he attempted to join them, drawing Longclaw for the task, Bran held him back.

"This is not your fate," he said solemnly.

"You cannot face him, Bran," Jon replied fiercely. "This cannot be your fate, either. If you die, every living being in Westeros dies as well. We can send you south, maybe on one of Dany's dragons…"

"I cannot ride a dragon," Bran reminded, gesturing to his own legs. "And this is my fate. To face the Night King is always the fate of the Three-Eyed Raven. I only wish we had the Horn of Winter."

"The Horn of Winter," Jon repeated, wincing as he watched Theon and his men torn apart by the Night King's ice spears.

"It allows me to call the family wargs, past and present. Without it, I can only call those still living: Ghost and Nymeria. The Night King can call a warg for every White Walker who still survives."

"It may be your fate to face the Night King, but it could be my fate as well," Jon claimed, fully drawing Longclaw as he ran for the Night King, pulling the weapon back in preparation for a powerful stroke.

With a derisive stare and a single sweep of his arm, the Night King brushed Jon aside as though he were of no more consequence than an insect and continued in his path toward Bran.

 _The Horn of Winter…_

 _Horn of Winter…_

 _Here, Jon. You should have this._

 _What is it?_

 _It's a horn. I found it at the Fist of the First Men._

 _You should keep it, Sam. Make a drinking horn out of it, and every time you take a drink you'll remember how you ranged beyond the Wall, all the way to the Fist of the First Men._

 _I can't, Jon. It should be yours. I have a feeling you'll get more use from it than I._

"Bran!" Jon shouted, pulling the rough cloth bag from his cloak and removing the ancient horn. Bran looked his way - and the Night King did as well. As soon as his pale blue eyes rested on the horn, the Night King rushed to take it from him and Jon regretted his earlier thought: this was a far more frightening pace than even the White Walker's deliberate steps had been.

With a half-step backward, Jon threw the horn across the Godswood's clearing. The Night King reached him only a half-moment later and wrapped painfully cold hands around Jon's throat. Past him, Jon watched as Meera plucked the horn easily out of the air and passed it to Bran, who seized it and pressed it to his lips in the same movement. A single mournful tone was emitted and the Night King released Jon, standing motionless as he watched Bran. Rubbing at the frostbitten skin of his neck, Jon did the same.

Within a moment, Bran was surrounded by direwolves and Jon's heart nearly stopped to see Grey Wind, Lady, Nymeria, Summer, Shaggydog, and Ghost. The Night King retreated only a short distance before he raised his hands and the clearing around him filled with hawks, though they were far larger than any hawk Jon had ever seen, eyes cold and claws vicious.

 _One warg for every surviving White Walker… Gods, but there are so many…_

At that moment, wights and White Walkers poured into the Godswood, but they did not attack the living. Instead, they formed into a large half-circle surrounding the clearing. Jon watched them with his hand on Longclaw's hilt until Meera tugged sharply at his elbow.

"We need to be further away," she told him sharply.

"What will happen to Bran?" Jon asked, unable to take his eyes from the scene in front of him.

"He will fight the Night King. It is his fate, as it is the fate of every Three-Eyed Raven," Meera replied. "You have helped him immensely with the Horn of Winter, but there is nothing more either of us can do for him except stand clear of the battle."

"Battle?" Jon asked, but he allowed her to tow him further back.

Bran's eyes went white, as did those of the Night King, and the hawks rose into the air. The clearing was filled with the rushing of wings and sharp cries and a breeze strong enough to make Jon's eyes water.

The direwolves were far from cowed, however. They rushed into the seething mass of talons and beaks to begin picking the birds off. As Jon watched, Nymeria leapt up and forced one hawk to the ground, crushing its skull with one crack of her strong jaws. Grey Wind followed closely behind, grabbing a hawk by the wing and breaking its neck with one sharp shake of his head. Shaggydog and Summer each took hold of a hawk's wing and ripped it to pieces while Lady seemed content to break wings with her teeth, leaving the downed warg birds to be finished off by Ghost. Every time a hawk was felled, a White Walker would burst into flurries of snow and shards of ice, and the collection of wights watching the battle would shrink.

Despite the damage they were doing to the Night King's army, the direwolves were far from unscathed. Each was bleeding from multiple wounds inflicted by the giant hawks and Grey Wind especially seemed to be on the verge of collapse. While each wolf took down another set of hawks, the wounds became too much for Grey Wind, who let out a piercing howl and dissolved into nothing.

The other direwolves fought fiercely as their brother disappeared and the army of hawks became even smaller, but Shaggydog began faltering as well.

"It is to be expected," Meera told Jon, placing a hand on his arm. "They no longer have ties to living Starks. It makes them weaker."

"Lady has been dead longer than the others, but she seems fine," Jon returned.

"Sansa still lives," Meera said with a shrug. "They are warg guardians, not something that can be governed by logic."

When the White Walkers' numbers fell to four, the Night King seemed to have reached a limit of some king. His eyes returned to their icy blue and he pushed his way toward Bran, clenching a fist when the direwolves attacked and they dissolved into nothing.

"Bran!" Jon shouted as Meera sank to a seated meditation stance on the snow-dusted ground of the clearing. Bran's eyes remained white, and when Meera's snapped open once more, hers were white as well. Silently, she tore across the Godswood clearing, Jon's Dragonglass dagger in her fist. The Night King, intently focused on Bran, failed to hear her approach until she was steps away and turned only to find Jon's dagger buried in his chest.

The Night King exploded into flurries of snow and shards of ice and the dagger dropped to the ground, along with a profusely-bleeding Meera. Bran reached for her, but obviously lacked the strength to propel his chair over to the spot where she lay. Jon made his way across the suddenly-empty clearing to help, but his progress was slower than he would have liked, his legs numb with shock and adrenaline.

When Bran and Jon finally reached Meera, she had screwed her eyes closed with the pain of her wounds. Her face, torso, and legs had been largely shredded by the Night King's ice fragments and every exposed inch of her skin was black with frostbite. Bran pushed himself out of his chair, landing sprawled on the frozen ground beside her.

Meera opened her eyes to look up at Bran and asked on a shuddering breath, "Safe?"

"Yes," he told her firmly. "Everyone is safe. Westeros is safe, thanks to you."

"Good," Meera answered with a blissful smile that stretched the wounds on her bleeding cheeks and lips. "I'll tell Jojen that we did it. We helped the Three-Eyed Raven defeat the Night King."

"You tell Jojen and I will tell Westeros," Bran promised, more emotion in his dark eyes than Jon had seen since before Bran's fall. "Thank you both for everything. You saved me. You saved everyone."

Meera's smile widened slightly before it fell into the slack peace of death. When Bran's soft sobs had abated, Jon helped him back into his chair and they went to discover the aftermath of the battle.

* * *

Author's Note \- This chapter hurt my heart a good bit to write. Much as I hate emotionless Bran, it was worse to see him in so much pain. But we've finally gotten through the Battle of Winterfell. Hope you don't hate me too much for the changes. I will go ahead and apologize for the lack of deaths you're going to see in the rest of this story. Not everyone will live, but more people will than did in the show. It may take things to an unrealistic level, but - like that infamous text post says - we write the stories we need in our lives and I need one where my favorite people live. Sorry if that takes anything away from anyone. If you really liked Theon's redemption, pretend Bran forgave him for everything before Jon came in. Obviously, the Night King's death is a more dramatic explosion in my writing than it was in the show, but he was king of the White Walkers and I can't believe someone standing so close would have come away unharmed.

Shoutout to my guest reviewer for their awesome encouragement and to all of you for making it through this BEAST of a chapter!

Finally, apologies for the late post. I was sick, my midterms almost finished me off, and I had computer problems all in the past two weeks, so this chapter is coming to you quite a bit later than I would have preferred. Expect the next chapter by the end of the month as normal. Thanks for reading, please leave a review, and I'll see you all later this month! Have a great day!


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